Legend of the fall
by Nadin4400
Summary: AU. Case-fic, takes place in mid-S3 some time around Halloween. Better summary inside. The Headless Horseman and decapitated bodies included. Dean/Bela, Sam. Rated T for language/content. UPD 09/06/09. Ch finale is UP! COMPLETE! Please R
1. Chapter 1

**Title**: Legend of the fall

**Summary**: When people start disappearing in the woods of Pennsylvania some time around Halloween, Dean goes to investigate the case and finds out that there could be more to the legend about the Headless Horseman than he'd first thought.

**Spoilers**: Season 3 only

**Characters: **Dean, Bela, Sam, mentions of Bobby

**Pairings**: Dean/Bela (further down the line)

**Disclaimer**: I do not own any of the characters of this story. The plot, however, is all mine.

**Author's Note**: This story is AU and takes place somewhere in the middle of Season 3 before "Dream a little dream of me". I was toying with this idea for quire a while and finally decided to put it into something other than my thoughts. Hope it's going to be fun to read it :))

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**Chapter 1**

"Now, tell me once again, Bela, what the hell am I doing here?" Dean Winchester grumbled zipping his jacket up to his very throat to avoid blistering cold wind that was using each and every chance to get underneath his clothes. Unfortunately, neither that, not tucking his hands into the pockets helped much.

"Mm, looking for a ghost?" Bela Talbot offered helpfully, voice light. "The question is, what the hell am _I _doing here with you?"

"Keeping an eye on me so that I didn't screw up the case?" Dean supposed willingly using exactly the same voice. And then, "Like some freaking babysitter," under his breath but loud enough for her to hear.

In response, Bela flashed her best smile at him.

It didn't go past her that Dean rolled his eyes, all annoyance.

None of them spoke after that and for a while the shuffling of dry leaves beneath their feet and howling of the wind in the naked crowns of the trees were the only sounds breaking the eerie silence of the night.

Dean threw a quick sidelong glance out of the corner of his eye at his traveling companion and huffed to himself. Bela had her hair pulled up into a tight ponytail with a few curled strands framing her face, and right at the moment that very pony tail was swinging merrily from side to side as she walked. She didn't seem to be even merely bothered by freezing air. In fact, looking at her one could assume that she was having a walk in the park on a bright sunny day which made Dean suspect that her comfort was directly related to the fact that she knew how much it was getting on his nerves. Chin tipped high, she was making her way forward without paying attention to the cold or uneven ground as if she was actually enjoying the whole thing.

And who on Earth wouldn't enjoy walking through the dark woods several days before Halloween searching for the ghost from one of the creepiest legends known to mankind?

Dean looked up at the dark moonless sky covered with heavy low clouds – or at least that was what he saw when it wasn't dark yet – and shook his head hoping they'd be lucky enough to avoid getting soaked in the rain. Gave Bela another studying glance and wondered how could she look so professional and classy and like she was heading to yet another business meeting of hers even wearing a pair of jeans and sport shoes? At least she knew better than putting on her bloody heels when going to a field trip, Dean thought mischievously. And wondered how it even happened that he listened to her and ended up in the woods of Pennsylvania in the first place instead of watching TV and drinking beer in his own motel room. Preferably, several states away from here and most likely having Sam as a comforting background noise.

How on Earth could he believe even for one goddamned second that the Headless Horseman was real? Gee, it was almost as ridiculous as that case when fairy tales were coming to life in the most cruel and sadistic way. With the exception that evil fairy tales were real back then. As for the Headless Horseman, he wasn't all that sure.

"You're so going to owe me if we don't find a thing," Dean muttered, his breath came out in a small white cloud.

The beam of his flashlight was sliding along the earth capturing tree trunks and bushes here and there, eyes scanning their surroundings thoroughly for any indication of danger or, well, the Headless Horseman.

Bela let out a short laugh. "Try it the other way around, honey. According to our agreement, we find something and then we speak of debts."

Dean made a face at her wishing it was less dark around so that she could appreciate the effort but said nothing, irritated by two things at once: Bela's company in general and the fact that she actually was right.

***

_Earlier that day…_

Bela turned off the water and slid out of the shower cubicle. Small bathroom was filled with steam and after wrapping herself in a soft white towel with the hotel's logo in the corner she wiped the mirror with her palm to have a better view of her reflection.

She blow-dried and combed her hair; regarded her looks speculatively and nodded with satisfaction, smiling. Ran her fingers through her curls one last time fluffing them and then emerged back into the room, fresh and flushing from hot water, humming softly under her breath the tune that she had heard on the radio earlier that morning, mouth watering at the thought of the breakfast that was waiting for her. Turkey sandwich, fruit salad and – mm! – coffee. Mental image and anticipation nearly made her moan. God, she needed coffee.

She had things to do, too, but not until noon, Bela figured, and that fact felt somewhat inspiring. It was a good idea to check her notebook lest she miss or forget something, and maybe she'd also need to make a couple of phone calls, but it wasn't a big deal. As for now…

Too lost in her thoughts, Bela froze dead in her tracks, shocked, when her eyes finally fixed on the picture that she didn't quite expect to see. Not in her room at least.

Dean Winchester was sitting on top of _her_ bed, his back leaned against the headboard, legs stretched before him and ankles crossed. He didn't even bother to take off his shoes, and seeing his boots on her comforter as if it was the most natural thing ever made Bela thank God that she wasn't armed. It would have made Dean regret that he showed up at all if she were. Yet, he looked like he was having a pretty great time – he was flipping through _her_ magazine with a rather curious expression on his face, furrowing or arching his brows at what he was seeing each time he turned the page while sipping the coffee and taking huge bites from the sandwich every now and then. _Her_ coffee and _her_ sandwich, damn him! Her fruit salad stayed untouched though, Bela noticed with growing fury. Of course. Dean Winchester wasn't exactly a fruit salad type.

Watching him was almost amusing – this kaleidoscope of emotions flashing across his features – and in any other situation it would probably bring a smile to her face. Yeah, in a situation when Dean Winchester wouldn't be ruining her plans for the morning.

When he didn't raise his head to acknowledge her appearance, Bela put her hands on her hips and cleared her throat and somehow managed to hold back a wish to tap her feet on the floor; the very image of it made her wince inwardly. Cold-hearted murder was tempting and she toyed with the idea for a couple of moments.

Dean snapped his head up as though the concept of her possible presence in the room was far beyond him. But he regained his composure quickly.

"Morning, Bela!"

His voice was cheerful when he greeted her, grinning. Saluted her with the cup of _her_ coffee and then finished it in one big gulp. The last bite of _her_ sandwich followed and for while he was too busy to talk trying to chew with his mouth closed, which – assuming the size of the bite – was almost a miracle.

Bela scowled at him.

"What are you doing here?" She inquired with a big deal of mock patience without wasting her time on greeting him back.

Dean swallowed visibly before speaking again and she anything but sighed with relief when he didn't choke. Calling the ER wasn't anywhere in her plans either.

"You called me," Dean shrugged matter-of-factly. "Oh, Christ, I haven't see so much crap in one place for…" paused to consider. "Well, ever." Shook his head and tossed the magazine away to the other half of her double bed. "How can you read it? Seriously, who can ever process that shit in their mind without a couple of glasses of tequila?"

Bela arched her brows elegantly. "Only people with brains. Still, I doubt you came to talk about my reading preferences. How did you find me, Dean?"

"You made me drag my ass across two states overnight," he snorted and rolled off the bed to take a tour around her room. Flicked the reading lamp on and then off, and then turned to look at her once again. "The way you made it sound, I thought it was something important. Honestly, I expected you to be sitting here and looking at your watch ever minute and biting you nails or pacing impatiently around the room, sleepless and restless, while waiting for me."

"You wish!"

"You're breaking my heart, baby."

Dean sighed with feigned disappointment and that was the moment when he seemed to finally notice her outfit, or mostly the lack of it. Brows shot up high, he looked Bela over appraisingly from head to toe before locking his gaze with hers once again.

Bela's eyes anything but popped out of her scull when the realization came to her, too. She felt her cheeks flush and fought to make her scowl deepen, oddly nervous at being thusly observed. Having a bathrobe on, instead of just a towel that was barely covering her hips, would probably make her feel better, but then again it wasn't the first bright thought that came to her a tad belatedly. Yet, she resisted a wish to wiggle her bare toes, out of embarrassment more that anything, and held his gaze, chin tipped high and expression blank, or so she hoped, and all in all did nothing to make her discomfort slip.

"So, what is it?" He asked when simple staring got a bit boring. "Anything decent or you simply missed me?"

Bela ignored his last comment. "It's a long story," she replied evasively.

"Fine," Dean nodded. His brows came together as he considered something, and then, "I'll wait for you downstairs and then we're going to find something to eat. I'm starving. Did you ever try to drive for seven hours with only one stop? And this thing wasn't really filling anyway," with that he poked at the plastic plate with a few breadcrumbs on it that he left on her bed.

"Sounds fair now that you owe me the breakfast," Bela folded her arms on the chest conceding his point even if it wasn't exactly what he meant.

"Whatever. Just do me a favor." His eyes traveled up and down her body one more time as he neared her on his way out, and lingered on her practically bare legs. "Change into something less distracting, would you?"

"Why, Dean!" She drawled and let her lips stretch into her best charming smile. "Like what you see?" Batted eyelashes at him attempting to look coquettish.

"Only when I don't think that it is you," Dean returned cheeky smile and walked out of the door feeling her glare burn a hole in his back.

The lock clicked. Bela rolled her eyes and shook her head. Business, she reminded herself when the thought about checking out and looking for another hotel crossed her mind. Strictly business, and in a way Dean was as much interested in it as she.

***

_"So, what's the big idea?"_ Sam Winchester's voice was mock polite although Bela could hear carefully masked worry ringing in it.

"Hallo, Sam! Nice to hear you, too." She said brightly into the receiver ignoring his obvious hostility.

_"Drop it, Bela. What exactly are you dragging Dean into this time?"_

"Dean? Meaning, you're not coming to baby-sit your brother? What a shame! Well, I saw that he was alone of course but I thought you might be hanging somewhere in the background." She smirked when he failed to find what to say to that. "What exactly is the nature of your call, Sam? I am kind of busy for a lazy chat now."

_"I want to know what you're up to this time."_

"I'm sure I don't understand what you mean."

_"Why do you need Dean? What's the ploy now?"_

"There is no ploy." Bela huffed, insulted. "It's just a case that I thought the two of you might be interested in. Not quite my style but I guess I'd like to be into it, if I were in all this life-saving crap. I'm not, that's why I contacted you."

_"Nothing personal, but I just want to be sure that you're not going to make him do dirty work for you and then give him away to the police or whoever in the end."_

"Dean's a big boy, it never seemed to be a big thing before." Bela checked her nails and then looked at the watch on her wrist. "Sam? What's wrong?"

_"Nothing."_

"Aw, come on! I know that the two of you are inseparable and stuff, but that's just a bit too much. You calling me, I mean. There should be a reason."

The pause in the line was long. _"Dean's been a bit… risky lately,"_ Sam admitted rather unwillingly at last making Bela wonder what exactly he meant by _lately_ and when Dean wasn't. _"I don't want him to do something regrettably stupid."_

"Like what? Cliff-diving without a parachute?"

_"That, too."_

"That's sweet. The way you care about each other. So sweet it feels almost sticky."

_"Just make sure he comes out of it alive, okay?"_

"I'm not going to get in Dean's way. I'm passing the case over to him and in the end we'll see how it's going to work for both of us. That's it. You want him to be looked after, come and do it yourself. As for me, I know a lot of other ways to entertain myself. I'm not on vacation here anyway."

Another pause followed.

_"Please, Bela."_

"What the hell is going on, Sam? Why didn't you--?"

_"I can't, okay? I'm… busy."_

"Fine. Still, I fail to see why any of it is my problem."

_"I'll… listen, I'll pay."_

"Now, that is interesting." Her brows arched. "But I doubt you can afford my services."

Apparently, he knew that, too.

_"I'll find a way."_

Pleading wasn't exactly what Bela ever expected to hear from Sam Winchester, and the fact that she was wrong made her feel uncomfortable for the reason that she could see yet. He sounded almost desperate and she dropped her to-hell-with-everything façade feeling strangely worried herself. Something was definitely not right with the two of them. She seriously doubted that Sam would call her in any other situation.

"Now I'm scared. Is Dean in trouble?" In more trouble than being Dean Winchester meant, Bela added to herself on a mental snort. "Seriously, Sam, what is this all about? Just tell me and I'll think about your generous offer."

_"It's nothing. Forget it. It's not like I…" _

"I presume Dean shouldn't find out about your call, yeah?" Dean was going to kick his brother's ass for it, she guessed.

_"I'd appreciate that." _

"Look, I'll… I'm not going to promise you anything because your brother and I are not exactly a good team." She winced cursing herself for that stupid spur of a moment softening. Why would she care anyway? "But if you say that it is… you know, important, I'll try to do something, okay?"

_"It's not a big thing."_ She could have sworn that he snorted.

"Yeah, we'll see." And before hanging up, "Get ready to start selling everything you have."

***

Dean was studying the choice of snacks in the snacks-machine near the registration counter downstairs thinking whether to look for the coins to buy Oreos or to save them for the cappuccino from the coffee-machine at his own motel when elevator dinged behind his back. He turned just in time to see the doors slide open, and Bela stepped out of it wearing a dark-blue raincoat over her suite and holding a folder in her hands. She hesitated for a moment to scan the hall and then headed straight to Dean. He, in turn, headed for the door, Oreos forgotten, making her change her course half-way.

A blast of cold wind rushed into the hall when he opened the door and stirred Bela's hair. He held it for her on artificially polite, "After you."

"How very sweet!" She smiled at him over the shoulder. "Finally, I see Sam's positive influence."

"Sam's…? Just move!"

Dean huffed and then stepped out after her, breathing in cool air.

In the diner around the corner Beal took off her raincoat and looked curiously at the collection of posters in Wild, Wild West style hanging over the counter before slipping into the booth. Put the folder on the bench beside her purse and then looked at Dean who was making himself comfortable across from her.

"Feel free to start filling me in," he offered but before she could begin the waitress came up to put two mugs of steaming coffee before them and leave menu. "Unless, of course, I got it right and all this crap was about you missing me badly," he added as soon as the woman was gone to give them time to choose what they'd like to have.

"You can't be seriously thinking that," Bela scoffed.

She took a sip of her coffee, paused to consider something or another and then reached for sugar and cream. Took another sip, nodded with appreciation and only after that bothered to pay attention to Dean who was watching her manipulations with deliberate patience.

"Are you going to start some time this year?" He asked, head cocked slightly.

Bela set her mug aside and put on her best business face.

"Patience, Dean."

He snorted and grabbed the menu.

"I came here…" Bela started but then cut herself off when Dean's brows shot up with interest. "It doesn't matter why I came, actually." Opened her own menu and ran her eyes down the list of breakfast offers. "The thing is, a friend of my client contacted me. His son had gone missing five days ago. He asked me to help find him. At this point I decided you might be interested, and I asked you to come."

Dean froze for a moment and then slowly looked up to meet her eyes; blinked as if not sure that he heard what he heard, and let out a short barking laugh.

"You gotta be kidding," he shook his head in obvious disbelieve. "I'm now what? Missing persons unit?"

"Hold on a sec, Dean, and let me finish, please." And, "Thank you," when he pretended to zip his lips. "Several people disappeared in the area lately, nine to be exact, in this town and a couple of nearest ones. Later, their bodies were found in the woods, decapitated."

Dean grimaced. Apparently, at the image in his mind.

"Crazy psychopaths are not my department," he reminded her.

"The heads were never found," Bela added.

"Call FBI. They like such things."

Bela leaned closer to him over the table with a pretty sympathetic look which, Dean knew by now, couldn't mean anything good to him.

"Do you even know what place is this?" She asked with mock pity.

"_This_ place?" Dean looked pointedly around the diner.

"The town, you dolt," rolling her eyes.

"Hope the one where they serve the best cheeseburgers in the state."

Here they were interrupted by the waitress that appeared once again to re-fill their mugs and collect their orders.

"Tell me I was right about the cheeseburgers," Dean asked her when the woman was gone again.

"This is the only town in the country where the Headless Horseman was witnessed. Not once. You, of all people, should know that."

"Headless… what?" Dean gave the information time to sink in. O-okay! He smirked and looked Bela in the face as if searching for reassurance or explanation, or whatever, half-expecting her to admit that it was a joke. "You're not serious." Leaned over the table and closer to her, too. "There is no such thing as the Headless Horseman, Bela." In a voice like he was talking to someone mentally incompetent.

"Says who?" She arched her brow elegantly not at all taken aback by his implications. "Dear God, who are you and what did you do to my dear friend Dean?"

He made a face at her, feverishly trying to find a decent shot back and shamelessly failing.

The thing that bothered Dean most was that he had read his father's journal numerous of times and knew for sure that there was no hint on the possibility of existence of the Headless Horseman. And, like it or not, but almost everything that he and Sam had ever had to deal with was something that their father or Bobby were aware of, one way or another. Thank God, nothing brand new appeared in the world in the last twenty or so years.

And here Bela Talbot comes – well, calls – and tells him something that even John Winchester didn't know about. A woman who couldn't say a word of truth even when her life depended on it. So why would he even consider taking her seriously?

The train of Dean's thought turned in another direction when the waitress arrived yet again to deliver his plate with a cheeseburger and a large helping of French fries. Compared to it, Bela's omelet and cheese toast looked pitiful.

"Mm," Dean closed his eyes savoring first bite of his second breakfast, an expression of a man who found Heaven on Earth spreading all over his face. "Gotta tell you, the stuff's friggin' delicious," he informed her. "At least I think I got it right about burgers." It came out rather muffled since he never stopped chewing. "So, why exactly did you grace me with your phone call?"

Bela ignored his table manners, or lack of those, in favor of moving straight to business.

"People were disappearing in this area for ages. It usually starts two weeks before Halloween and ends right after. Every year. The story is always the same – headless bodies found in the woods."

"Jack looking for his head," Dean chuckled on a shrug. "By the way, you said something about the witnesses. Did anyone actually see this Headless Horseman or whatever?"

"Heard," Bela corrected him. "Many people heard the clatter of the hoofs and snorting in the woods. Those who probably saw him are, unfortunately, all dead. And then the boy disappeared."

"And the first thing that came to your pretty little head was to call me. I'm flattered."

"Can I take it as a compliment? The part about my pretty head, I mean."

"Not really. But I take it as you're asking me for help, right? Wow! That's something to remember."

"See, my self-esteem allows me to admit that all of us can use some assistance every now and then. Honestly, I see nothing to be ashamed of here."

"Uh-huh," he nodded not sure if her words were meant to be insulting. He was pretty sure they were but couldn't quite put his finger on how exactly. "And you decided to help that guy with his son because…?"

"Because he is going to pay me for it," Bela answered simply.

"Oh, sure. What a stupid question." Dean hemmed. "And the reason why I am listening to all this crap is…?"

"Is that I'm going to pay you if you agree to help me with it." Bela shrugged. "Three grand. Okay for you?" He didn't reply right away, just watched her for a while with a mixture of suspicion and what Bela couldn't interpret other than resentment. She rolled her eyes. "Okay, four. For something that you normally do for free and illegally, in general. What else can you ask for?"

Dean continued to chew slowly, and she could almost hear the wheels turning in his head while he processed her words.

"What's the trick this time? Right, I got it that you want me to do all the work and get the credit. But that's too easy. Why should I believe you?"

"Oh, come on, Dean! We both know that had you heard about any of that before my call, you'd be into this case long before there was any case. What I am offering you is a way to hunt down something dangerous, save lots of lives and earn some money." She paused as if giving his words time to sink in. "The man who asked me for help is crazy about confidentiality. Without me, you won't come anywhere close him. Four grand, Dean. Think about it. How many years would it take you to get even half of that any other way? And why am I wasting my time trying to persuade you?" She shook her head. "You're not interested, I'll find someone else."

And Bela made an attempt to stand up.

"Wait." Dean narrowed his eyes and studied her expression. "You really are serious about this Headless Horseman thing?"

"Thank God it took you only forty minutes to get it! That's a huge step forward. I'm impressed."

She slumped back onto her seat and pretended that she didn't see his grimace.

"Do you know anything beside rumors and hearsay? Like, _facts_?"

"Here's what I found." Bela pushed the folder she brought across the table in his direction. "Legends, historical records, police reports, articles. Everything I could find. Not much but enough to see the picture." And as an afterthought. "You do know how to read, do you?"

"Ha-ha, funny."

"What? How am I supposed to know what to expect from you without Sam around?"

"Screw you."

"Sweet!" She drawled and smiled at him, all teeth. "But I heard that already. You start repeating yourself."

Dean moved his half-empty plate aside, grabbed a handful of French fries and poked his nose into the folder, genuine curiosity on his face as he flipped rapidly through the pages capturing bits of information here and there.

"Hey, you said there were no witnesses," still chewing and without looking up. "What about this one?"

Bela craned her neck to see what he was talking about.

"Oh, I knew you'd notice." She sighed reaching for her raincoat. Debated paying for herself but then decided not to wound Dean's ego even more, no matter how tempting it was. "A real piece of work, believe me."

***

"… All black and so huge!" Gabe Wilson, a man in his late 70s with a snow-white beard and washed out eyes that must have been bright blue years back but now resembled two pale bits of ice kept repeating over and over again.

He was sitting on the swing bench on the porch of his house – the exact same place where Bela had found him first two days ago – with Dean towering over him and nodding every now and then with the expression of sincere interest on his face. The one that Bela noticed appeared some three minutes ago when he lost actual interest in conversation. She preferred to stay behind and was now leaning against the porch poll, arms folded on her chest waiting for the interview to come to an end.

"… And his cloak was flying after him like two big black wings when he was galloping through the forest but you could never see how it never fell off. You could never see his neck because he didn't have it." Gabe went on and on. "And the horse was black, too, darker than the night. Its eyes were red and glowing in the darkness, and when it was breathing, it was smoke coming out of its nostrils. Creature of hell." He paused to see if his words made right impression on Dean. "I will never forget the day I saw them both. They were so big, mounting right above me." Voice dropped to a whisper by this point as though he was telling a secret. Or maybe he simply wanted to make the story more frightening. "I thought it was my end but then – _poof!_ – they disappeared in a cloud. Just like that." And he nodded to enunciate his point. "So black and so huge like they weren't real, and they weren't…"

"Thank you, sir. That was… interesting." Dean patted him of the shoulder with polite smile. "Thought you already left," he addressed Bela as soon as he turned to leave and spotted her waiting.

"Couldn't miss another round of the show. Helpful?" She tucked her hands into the pockets of the raincoat and followed him down the porch steps.

"He's so nuts!" Dean shook his head.

"Such a sweetheart, huh? I knew you'd like him. What again?" When he scowled at her over the shoulder. "I thought you wanted to have a witness."

"I still do. Do you know what the word _witness_ means? A person who has personal knowledge or experience of something, blah, blah, blah. That," he poked behind, "wasn't a witness."

"Oh, I see. Been reading World Dictionary online? That's cute and, well, admirable."

Dean regarded her grimly as they made their way down the street passing the houses and shops decorated for Halloween followed by at least one hundred of empty carved sockets of pumpkin jack-o-lanterns.

"Why are you even still here, Bela?"

"Taking a tour around the town. Why? Tired of my company so fast?"

"I can't think straight when you're buzzing into my ears like an annoying fly."

Plus, half of what she was saying wasn't even in English in his understanding. Every time she opened her mouth Dean felt like he was back in high school and sitting in the lit class with _William Shakespeare_ written on the blackboard before him. Besides, it was taking too much effort to keep track of the train of her thought.

"Can't think straight when I'm around?" She gasped in disbelief and beamed at him. "Well, if I didn't know you better…"

"Yeah, sorta can't stop trying to come up with a way to finally make you shut up."

They turned around the corner and Bela spotted a sign with the name of her hotel half a block down the street.

"So, you didn't believe that the man actually saw the Headless Horseman?" She asked changing the subject.

"No, I did believe him alright." Dean chuckled. "The problem is, he never mentioned what he drunk or smoked _before_ he saw the horse with 'red eyes glowing in the darkness'. Not really… credible, ya'know. And I know what _credible_ means!" He growled when she only opened her mouth to make a crack.

Bela arched her brows.

"Okay then, now that we're done with establishing the range of your abilities, what do you think about having a late night walk in the woods?"

Dean shrugged. "It's not like there's any other choice than to try and track down this son of a bitch, who-the-hell-ever he is."

"Great! Pick me up at nine."

"What?" He frowned. "You want to go, too? Why?"

Bela flashed another smile at him, her most charming one. "My money go, sweetie, I go."

***

_Later in the evening…_

Kicking asses and giving punches was Dean's way of dealing with the things. And normally it worked just fine. But strategic planning had never been his strong side and no matter how hard he tried to come up with a better plan after studying everything that Bela managed to find he did not succeed. Apparently, he had no other choice than to share his evening with this most annoying of all women ever.

The file that Bela passed over to him was impressive and he had to admit that she did a good job with that research of hers. All these articles, everything, looked like a sure thing and Dean found himself wondering why neither he, nor Sam, nor Dad ever came across that case because from where he was standing it was purely their job. People kept disappearing for over seventy years – or maybe more, but police records didn't go any farther than that – and none of the heads of the victims was ever found anywhere. Each of the investigations was deep and thorough, supported by a whole lot of paperwork, and yet fruitless. Police blamed the murders on a serial killer – who was never caught, of course. But – shocking! – no one ever saw the pattern. Why Halloween, for example?

Or didn't want to see?

But at the same time something felt wrong although Dean couldn't say what exactly caused that strange suspicion. Could be a random fact that he read in one of the articles but didn't pay attention to, he decided in the end and made mental note to run through all of them once again later. Or… or maybe it was a natural reaction to every single word that Bela Talbot said, even if each of them was confirmed, in a way.

The idea of leaving her behind was tempting. More than tempting because the idea of working together was sickening. And the longer they were walking, looking for something that Dean was sure didn't exist, the more obvious it was getting that it was exactly what he should have done. In this case at least he could have limited this search party to a quick ten minutes survey of the area and headed back to his motel.

"Do you think it will take you only half of the night to get that we're wasting our time or you plan to freeze your ass here till morning?" Dean asked in a pointedly calm voice.

"Five minutes and you're already ready to back off?"

"What d'you mean – five minutes?! Three hours at least! Or maybe it feels this way because time drags when you're around."

"Why wouldn't you call Sam and ask him to verify the information I've given to you? It will surely make you more attuned to the case. Besides, you could use that chance to complain about me. I'm surprised you didn't do it so far. Unbelievable! And why didn't he come, too? You guys what, have problems?"

"Mind your own business, Bela."

The thing was that Sam's over-grown sense of protection, worried looks, guilty expression and desperate attempts to try and find a way out of that situation started driving him crazy months ago and Dean knew that he would most likely grab any case to have an excuse to scram for a while.

"My, my, trouble in paradise?"

"I'd rather eat my shoe than tell Sam that you hired me to chase the Headless Horseman. He'll never let me off the hook after that," Dean snorted. "_Embarrassing!_"

Bela laughed.

"What?"

"No, nothing. It's just…"

Dean grabbed her by the arm, all tense at once. "Wait. Listen," he whispered.

Bela stopped immediately. "What is it?"

"Can you hear it?"

"What? I can't hear anything."

"Exactly," he breathed out. "Nothing at all." And then, "What the…"

They exchanged puzzled looks.

"Footsteps?" Bela frowned when she caught the faintest sound. It was too low, almost inaudible, and yet too even to be just rustling of leaves in the wind.

Dean nodded curtly. "There are two of them."

"Or one on four legs."

"Oh, please!"

"Why are you so skeptical about it?" She hissed.

"Because… oh, never mind, okay?" Because Halloween was like a red cloth for all kinds of freaks intended to make the legends and worst blood-bath horror movies real. That was something that he, unfortunately, had seen not once already. Haunted houses that were not so haunted and rituals that were not really rituals at all and murders that took place only at certain time of the year because… because that was how it worked around Halloween. Like in maintenance of the spirit of the holiday. Too much effort to explain it all to Bela though. "You stay here and I'll go and check what the hell is going on out here."

"What?! No way!"

Dean took a deep breath before speaking again – or wringing her neck to save the trouble – cognizant of the need to stay unnoticed for as long as possible. His main theory was still spinning around a run-away schizophrenic who watched too much of "Halloween" movies. Unfortunately, ghosts weren't the only thing to worry about in this world.

"Listen, Bela, I said nothing when you decided to follow me like a lovesick cat—"

"You…" She gasped and chocked. Who the hell he thought he was, this arrogant…?

"—But when it comes to doing the job I don't want to think about covering your ass. Can you _please_ stay out of trouble for two goddamned minutes? Just stay here and, for God's sake, turn off the bloody flashlight. That's all I'm asking for."

Bela huffed with frustration but before she came up with an answer, he disappeared in the darkness.

"Dean!" She called in a whisper a couple of seconds later. "Oh, crap!" Looked around. "That's just brilliant!"

Yet, she turned off the flashlight lest she be spotted by whoever was out there. The darkness became almost impenetrable, what with all these trees and no moon.

Bela made a couple of steps groping around until her fingers brushed against rough bark of the tree. On a sigh of relief she leaned against it and started counting in her mind to keep track of time. Silence was heavy and pressing and complete now. She bit her bottom lip nervously when five minutes passed and Dean didn't show up.

_If it was a joke_, she thought angrily forcing the worst fears out of her mind, _I swear to God, Dean, it would be the last thing you did in your life_.

Sudden noise somewhere to the right from her gave Bela a start. She whipped her head around but trying to see something there made as much sense as trying to see something in the black hole.

"Dean?" She called out quietly, realizing a tad belatedly that if she couldn't see much then he probably couldn't see anything either and perhaps it made sense to give him a clue of her whereabouts. _Please, let it be you._ "It's not funny!"_ Say something, damn it!_

But he didn't say anything. Moreover, it definitely wasn't Dean. Something big and black was moving in on her, so dark that it was oddly distinguishable even among the trees making them look grayish.

Bela swallowed uneasily as she listened to the footsteps – four legs, no doubt about that – approaching her. Her heart was pounding against her ribs, her back pressed against the trunk of the tree in a vain attempt to become one with it. Now she could also hear light snoring, too, between deep steady breaths.

But it wasn't until she saw two red gleaming dots floating five feet above the earth almost within arm's reach from her that Bela realized what exactly was going on.

The Headless Horseman wasn't just a legend after all.

She took a small step to the right wondering what her chances to meet another day were. Obviously, she would never outrun the horse. But then, maybe she wouldn't have to. Maybe she'd just die in a couple of seconds. Sure thing, it would save her a trouble of worrying about the ways to escape.

Bela looked around helplessly and almost missed the moment when the horse made a small step towards her, too, and then huffed impatiently as though urging her to flee. Like it thought that attacking someone who wasn't even running away was dishonest. Or maybe it was against the rules. Yet, Bela kept backing away slowly and the horse kept moving forward after her.

"Damn you, Dean," she breathed out getting ready to saying mental goodbyes but when she took one more step back she suddenly felt the ground slipping away from under her feet, literary speaking. Bela didn't even get surprised or scared when it happened. She only threw her arms instinctively into the air trying to keep her balance but it didn't work and the next thing she knew was that she was rolling down the steep slope. And then she felt sharp pain in her head, and everything turned black.

* * *

**To be continued…**

Thanks for reading. Reviews are appreciated :)))


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's notes**: Just to make it clear – I know that the original Headless Horseman story takes place in New York but before starting this fic I went through some stories and records and found a bunch of other legends about the Headless Horseman scattered all over the United States. Besides, it's just a fic, read – the result of my restless imagination, so… No flames :)) Hope you're going to enjoy this chapter.

* * *

**Chapter 2**

"Bela?"

The beam of Dean's flashlight was dancing around, casting angled, oddly shaped shadows as it kept hitting trees and bushes.

"Terrific!" He breathed out with frustration.

Damned woman couldn't do what she was asked to even in a life and death situation! What the hell was wrong with her?! Okay, maybe life and death was pushing it a little bit, especially the death part. But he left her for some freaking five minutes and now she was gone without a trace. Okay, Dean admitted, he wasn't really thinking that she just turned away and left. Not really. But she couldn't just disappear, could she?

So, it wasn't a Headless Horseman after all, it was a moose and meeting it some two hundred feet away from where he left Bela freaked him out. Maybe even a bit more than if he'd actually stumbled into the real Headless Horseman, or something else… ghostly. Except for that there was no such thing as the Headless Horseman, for God's sake!

Dean considered himself lucky that the animal did not attack him. He didn't want to shoot poor thing only because it happened to be mistaken for something else. Besides, Dean seriously doubted that rock salt would cause any harm to anything that wasn't already dead but he was quite certain that it would piss that moose off which wasn't the brightest of all prospects. So, he dealt with the situation with the rare manly coolness… and scrammed quickly and quietly before he was spotted. Made extra circle to be sure that there were no other two- or four-legged creatures in the area, and headed back.

So why? Why wouldn't she just stay where he had left her? And did this woman even know that she was causing almost unbelievable amount of trouble?

Still, as much as Dean would like to think so, he seriously doubted that Bela would miss her chance to observe the results of yet another sick joke of hers, for one thing. Not her style. Where was fun in that? And this realization was quite enough to make Dean worry and push him forward darting his eyes from side to side and listening intensely while he was replaying the last conversation with Sam in his mind...

_"You can't be serious, Dean!" Sam snorted and shook his head. _

_"Why?"_

_"Come on, dude! It's Bela! You should know better than that."_

_"She said it was a case," Dean pointed out. _

_"Yeah, and now we're believing everything she says. Since when? Should I remind you the general rule – we hear from Bela Talbot, we run away in another direction, remember?"_

_"It can be a case, you know. She knows the stuff and everything."_

_"She knows how to make profit out of everything that comes along her way, Dean."_

_"So? It's Halloween, we…"_

_"Exactly, Dean. Halloween. Her case can be a prank of some geek."_

_"Yeah, and sitting holed up in the motel is the best way to spend a holiday." Dean rolled his eyes, although Sam had a point here. _

_Halloween was the worst time of the year for both of them, or for the hunters generally, for that mater. Damned holiday was usually messing everything up. A haunted house could be "haunted" by the next-door neighbors, a bunch of zombies usually turned out to be a bunch of dressed up teens and even black magic rituals were in most cases the result of watching too much shows on cable. Dean thought it was nothing until he nearly shot a "vampire" whose big idea was to scare crap out of his girlfriend. After that he and Sam decided to be more careful around Halloween. The thing was that right at the moment Dean couldn't afford having a vacation, not with his head being stuffed with all these __**I'll-die-soon**__ thoughts. He needed a case. Any case. Anything to occupy his mind for a while. _

_"Not that I'd mind but that's boring. And I don't want to waste my time…" He trailed off when Sam looked away and cleared his throat. "I want to have some fun, okay?"_

_"You have a weird understanding of fun, Dean."_

_"Huh?"_

_"Why are you doing this for her again?"_

_"Excuse me? I do not do anything for anyone. If Bela's right then people's lives could be at stake. If she's not, it'll be my excuse to finally kill the bitch. I'll be back in two days at most. You sure you don't wanna come with me?" _

_"No, thanks! Bela and Halloween – that's too much Halloween for me. Remember the last one? We spent a week chasing a ghost and in the end it was a student from local college who thought that his landlord would cut the rent if he proved that the house was haunted. I've got to admit that the sound effects were high-class but it was seven days of wasted time. You wanna have it again – be my guest. I'd rather visit Bobby and look for some real case." Read, _try to break your fool's deal_, as if Dean didn't know. But none of them said it out loud although both knew that it was what the other thought. Playing cool wasn't a problem though. _

_"Whatever. Bake some cookies for the local kids."_

_"Good luck with real witch," Sam snorted in response. "Do not be surprised, man, if she flies out of the chimney in the end leaving you with a whole lot of problems." Dean chuckled. "Can I trust you to be careful?"_

_"Sure, Mom! I promise to brush my teeth twice a day and eat all Brussels sprouts instead of throwing them out of the window like other kids."_

_"I'm serious, Dean."_

_"I know. And do you know that you're getting paranoid?"_

_"You're messing up with Bela. It can't lead to anything good."_

_"I'm not messing up with anyone. Besides, after her last joke," Dan cringed at the memory – Gordon's red blood-thirsty eyes and his maniacal desire to kill Sam, "she wouldn't dare to just get in our way without a reason."_

_"She always has one and in most cases it is safer for us not to know anything about any of them."_

_"Listen, I know, she's been a pain in the ass… a couple of times…"_

_"But you keep taking her side regardless. Tell me you're doing it not because you think she's hot, Dean."_

_Dean's brows shot up. "You said it, Sammy. Not me." He grinned. _

_Sam rolled his eyes. "Don't tell me I didn't warn you, okay?"_

_"It's Pennsylvania, Sam. What on earth can go wrong in Pennsylvania?"_

_"Anything can go wrong anywhere, and you know it."_

_"Okay, I got your point. Look, it's nothing special. I'm sure Bela will give me whatever information she has and then flee with light heart, the way she usually does. We've been through this before, right? Through Halloween I mean. I'll know if it is a bogus, and if it is, I'll be right back. I just want to make sure, is all."_

_So that was it. Sam sighed in defeat and Dean – with relief. Fighting over every case that Sam thought was nothing but crap – and they all were now that he had so many other things in mind, like breaking the unbreakable deal – started getting on his nerves long before Bela's call. It was almost a relief to have an excuse to get away for a while and have some air. He felt guilty for it, too. His time was running out. It made sense to spend as much time with his little bro as possible but Dean doubted that kicking Sam's ass for being so annoying could be a good thing to remember. _

_"Call me if you need some help," Sam breathed out with frustration in the end. _

_"Sure I will," Dean patted him on the back smiling and flopped on the couch to finish his double burger before departing…_

"Bela?" He span around when a branch creaked behind him but it was just a bird that had taken off of the tree.

He took a deep breath filling his lungs with cool damp air and then let it out slowly willing his heart to slow down its quickened pace. Absently, Dean noticed the fog that started rising from the river they'd passed an hour ago and crawling along the ground catching at the rocks and tangling in the branches, panic crawling into him just as easily. His hands were almost numb and most of all in the world he wished he could just drop his shotgun and a flashlight and tuck them into the pockets of his jacket. Temperature seemed to drop even lower, and to top it all, it started to drizzle.

"I'm going to kill her," he breathed out contemplating slow and painful torture as soon as he found her. The thought made his lips quirk into a dreamy smile.

Bloody hell, he had so little time left and what was he doing? Losing priceless bits of it looking for Bela Talbot in the woods of Pennsylvania! At night. In the rain. Risking to turn into a popsicle long before dawn. What did she drag him into this time?

Moose! Gee!

***

It was cold and… _wet_? And the first thing that Bela found out was that something sharp was angling into her side. Her face was pressed into the earth and the smell of fallen leaves that filled her nostrils and probably her whole head was so strong that for a moment or two she thought it would be enough to send her back into unconsciousness.

God, she was pathetic, really! She knew how to take an impact of the fall and group so that in the end she could all but stand up, straighten her clothes and look like she had just made her way down the well-lit staircase in her best cocktail dress, more or less, not like a victim of a plane crash. But this time it was too unexpected and too fast, and she simply didn't have a chance to try and make the consequences of the fall less dramatic. But knowing that wasn't making her feel any better.

Here is to hunting the ghosts!

Bela gathered all her strength to roll over onto her back and moaned quietly when this simple movement set every single cell of her body on fire wishing she'd stayed knocked out for a little while longer.

And it was only the top of an iceberg. Her head hurt badly and when it came in contact with the ground Bela could have sworn that something exploded inside of it. It took her a couple of moments to realize that something was not right with her right shoulder, too. The pain was pooling there and spreading down her arm and all over her chest making the whole process of breathing quite unpleasant. That led to realization that her ribs might be damaged as well and at this point Bela decided that it was right about time to start panicking.

Slowly, she dared to open her eyes only to find out that they were practically pounding out of her scull. Great! What next? Bela didn't know if it was a good idea to move, like – at all! But she just had no other choice. Her teeth began to chatter unevenly and she knew without doubt that everything from broken ribs to severe concussion would be the least of her problems if she caught pneumonia.

Damn it!

"Bloody hell," she moaned and nearly passed out once again when she accidentally moved her right arm. Was it broken or what? She didn't even know if her cell phone survived the fall or if it was going to work in this middle of nowhere. Perfect!

O-okay, and what was her plan B now?

And wait a minute, was she even alive anyway? That was not an easy question to answer but she knew that she felt too bad to be dead. But she _did_ see the Headless Horseman and no one… The memory anything but made her jump and try to run away, and had she been in better shape that would be exactly what she'd do. If only she could, of course. Bela thought sourly about becoming the second Gabe Wilson, town's freak, and stifled a nervous giggle. Yes, she definitely didn't escape the concussion.

So, her cell phone…

"Bela?"

Um, she didn't call him yet, right? Then where—?

A beam of light hit her face.

Anyone asked for the light in the end of the tunnel? Bela squinted and blinked with confusion and surprise and did her best to concentrate on the source of it. Her eyes followed up the slope, which looked like a really long way to fall now that she could see the top of it. Too damn long. And rocky, and…

And there was Dean Winchester in the end of the tunnel as well, with the flashlight (she lost hers somewhere between here and there). Amen. Her rescue party arrived.

Dean made three big circles around the spot where he thought he saw her last, which was a long shot since the forest looked pretty much the same to him wherever he went. His panic-o-meter was overloaded by this time and he started thinking about calling the police or 911, or Ghostbusters even, when he saw them. The tracks that ended at the very edge of a rather deep hollow. And, seriously, who was he to start hoping that it was just a coincidence?

"Hey," she breathed out in relief not at all sure he could hear it, what with all that rain and that dull noise all around.

Oh, that noise must have been in her head only. Okay then.

"What are you doing there?" He shouted.

Good question!

"Watching the stars," Bela answered honestly.

Dean looked up, puzzled, and felt steady raindrops falling on his face. "There are no stars in the sky, Bela."

Huh? What else is new? "They are before my eyes, see the difference."

"Oh." He blinked. "Right." Like in Looney Tunes. Nice. "How did you get there anyway?"

"I fell."

"And… Did it help?"

Mm, what? Okay, what was he talking about again? Say something so that he knew you're still alive!

"Depends…" Did she say it or only thought?

"Can you move?" What again? "Bela?" A pause. "Oh, crap. Change of plan. _Don't_ move! Just hold on there, okay? I'll be right down."

Sure! Why the hell not? Not that she had a wide range of choices anyway. Besides, Bela liked the idea that there was no need anymore to try and fetch her cell phone from the left back pocket of her jeans.

"Dammit." Dean looked around hesitantly before starting to slide down the slope clutching at the tree trunks and thorny branches to slow down his descending, his feet slipping on wet rocks, damp earth and a thick layer of fallen leaves, which reminded him that he had never been fans of skiing. Balancing with a flashlight in one hand and a shotgun in another and trying not to end up flying down head-forward was sort of similar to it. And what was the fun in that? He never got it.

Once down, he crouched beside Bela and put a shotgun onto the pile of leaves formed by his skidding to a halt, a beam of flashlight traveled up and down her body as he searched for obvious injures, like open fractures.

"Hey, Dean."

"_Hey, Dean_? That's it? Not impressive." At least she seemed to still be in one piece. Sort of. "You look terrible, sweetheart," he announced in the end, chuckling, his fingers brushed her hair away from her face and cleared some leaves that got stuck in the strands. "How it feels?"

"The same." _Like I was run over by a herd of angry bulls_.

"That bad, huh?" In case she had a concussion, which he couldn't say for sure just like that, it was better to keep her talking.

"Try to repeat my trick, and we'll see how you're going to like it."

"Sure, first thing in the morning." Damn it, she didn't look good at all. Dean raised his hand. "How many fingers?"

"One flashlight. Can you please try to blind someone else?"

"Sorry." He put it down beside them. "And now?"

"Three."

Shit! "It's two, actually." Dean sighed. She looked frightened like hell; her eyes big and terrified, face twisted with pain and too pale for his liking. "So, what was it, Bela? An attempt to cut your way back to the car? You took the wrong turn somewhere, I'm afraid."

"What?" She frowned at him. "No, it was… Did you see him?"

"Who?"

The moose spooked her? Nah, with Bela it must have ended the other way around – poor animal would run away, screaming.

"The Headless Horseman."

Oh, that. Sure. Easter Bunny, Santa Claus and Headless Horseman, followed by Snow-White and her horde of dwarfs, the whole gang. "You have a pretty nasty bump here, see." His fingers traveled down the back of her head, and immediately he felt something warm and sticky. Oh, hell, she was bleeding. A cut, not just a bump. Any other nice surprises?

"Cut the crap!" Bela snapped and pushed his hand away from her face with her healthy arm, annoyed. She saw what she saw!

"Whatever." Dean rolled his eyes. "Come on. We need to get out of here somehow. The bluish color of your lips freaks shit out of me," he helped her up to the sitting position, one arm wrapped supportively around her waist but that simple gesture sent a shock of pain through her entire body. "What is it?" He asked quickly and with a great deal of panic when she gasped and tensed all over; the color drained off of her face and she became paler than the sheet.

"It's nothing, I just…" She trailed off when the train of her thought suddenly turned in another direction and disappeared in the fog that was filling her head. For now, throbbing pain was all she could think about. And where did all these bright spots came from? Oh, God, she just wanted to sleep.

"Bela?"

"My shoulder," she breathed out not quite up to… anything. "Something's wrong with it." Among all other things. _And did I ever mention that the world is spinning in funny circles around me?_

"That's just friggin' terrific."

Now that she said it, he finally noticed that her shoulder was obviously dislocated. Years of experiencing all kinds of traumas taught him to see such things better than if he was a professional surgeon. When it wasn't that dark around, of course. Yet, it explained her strained voice. Dean cringed at the thought of the pain she must have been having.

"Shoulda stayed in that fancy hotel of yours," he pointed out.

"Should have put more trust in you," she agreed unwillingly.

"What?! Now that's plain insulting!" He hesitated for a moment, considering. "Um, Bela…"

"What?" In a weak voice, obviously not expecting anything good from this life generally.

"We need to relocate your shoulder first."

"Re-?" _No!_ "Oh, crap." Yeah, that was exactly what she needed to make her night perfect. A bullet in the head would work too, though. Bela closed her eyes for a moment wondering how really screwed up she was, and then opened them again locking her gaze with his. If only it wasn't getting worse with each passing second… "Don't fuck it up, Winchester."

_And, here we are!_ Now he was some bloody ER, and she was still a bitch.

"It's going to hurt," Dean warned her.

"Seriously? Now that's a surprise!" She hemmed, voice ringing with suppressed pain and teeth beating a rapid staccato between the words. "And people usually say that it tickles."

"Damn, I shoulda let you believe _that_." He chuckled nervously never looking away from her face. "On the count of three, okay?" Bela paused and then nodded. _You're so going to hate me for this_, Dean thought. "One…" and without hesitation he snapped her shoulder back in place. That was John Winchester's favorite trick. He always said that the pain was less severe when it was unexpected. It never worked for Dean though. The pain was still… well, the pain.

Caught off-guard, Bela let out a stifled whimpering sob. She caught her breath for a moment and then exhaled slowly sagging into Dean, not even trying to fight unbidden tears that filled her eyes. It felt so much worse than she remembered, as if something white-hot exploded under her skin. Or maybe her arm was just torn off. She'd check it later, Bela decided, when she got back her ability to think. As for now… She was so cold that her limbs were going numb whereas Dean bloody Winchester was so warm and smelled like rain and something that she thought probably was his aftershave lotion, and something else, something very familiar, which she failed to recognize, and for a very long time it was all Bela could think of, drowsiness and weakness winning over everything else.

"Sorry about that," Dean whispered folding his arm around her. She was shaking all over, from pain or cold he didn't know. Probably both. "I know it hurts like hell. Good news – it wasn't actual dislocation, just an uncomfortable shift. Otherwise it could be worse."

_Huh, really?_

He tightened his grip on Bela and held her like that waiting for her short, sharp intakes of breath to become more deep and even.

The rain grew stronger.

He grabbed the flashlight and lit as much of the slope and the beam could reach. There was no chance for her to climb back up on her own. Fantastic! Mentally, Dean tried to imagine where he left the car and figure their route back to it. _That_ was where the GPS could come handy, not on the roads where good old maps were still working. He tried to ignore his hair that slicked to his scull and his wet jeans that clung to the skin of his legs, which was just gross. He was cold and tired and that deep cut that he got somewhere on his way down began to throb. Save alone the fact that he had a nearly unconscious woman for a company. Let the party never stop!

"Bela?" Her eyes were half closed when Dean looked down and she was staring sightlessly into nowhere, breath still pretty convulsive. "Could this day get any more screwed up?" He muttered. As if in response to his question thunder scattered across the sky and died away in the distance. Dean looked up. "Thanks. I knew it."

One hand still around her upper body, he slipped the other one under her knees and stood up picking her into his arms, careful not to touch her right shoulder to avoid and unnecessary pain. "Okay now, here we go."

"So cold." Bela murmured shivering violently. Her head was on his shoulder, hot breath falling on his neck making Dean's skin tingle.

"Tell me that." If only his own teeth weren't chattering, too, he'd probably scoff. "Not only you get all the fun, you also have the best services," he said with reproach shaking his head, and added, "Don't you dare to pass out on me," wondering how could she fuck everything up without a mere effort every time they happened to end up stuck with each other for some reason.

***

Back in the motel, Dean kicked the door closed behind them and reached awkwardly to flick the switch. "A-and, here we are," he announced when two reading lamps on the nightstands and a sconce hanging on the opposite wall came to life. "Home, sweet home." No roaches!

He lowered Bela onto the small couch near the window and after a short hesitation rushed outside once again on a hurried warning, "Don't go anywhere."

_Oh, just give me a chance_, Bela thought absently. Mind foggy, she looked around to observe whatever place she ended up in from under the veil of her lashes, one arm wrapped around her chest in a vain attempt to stop trembling.

There were two double beds and a scarred table in the middle of the room with three chairs around it that weren't matching either the table or each other, or any other piece of furniture speaking of that. She also spotted a wood dresser with four drawers and a small old TV perched on top of it that looked like the newest thing in the room. Nothing fancy, but it was warm and although Bela was still trembling, the sound of water dripping from her clothes and hair almost made her believe that that piece of ice that she thought she was steadily turning into finally began to melt.

Bluntly, she peered down at her toes, and then wiggled them watching pink nail polish wink at her through her nylons. She didn't remember at what point her shoes were gone. Hell, she didn't remember much. How did she get here by the way? Her head felt terrible; as if someone with a hammer got in there and was now trying to thump his way out. Even the sound of her own heartbeats seemed to be too loud to stand. She was a mess and, surprisingly, she couldn't care les.

When Dean got back to the room a couple of minutes later with a first aid kit clutched in his hand leaving a trace of water drops behind and feverishly trying to recall when was the last time he checked its supplies, he found Bela exactly where he left her, curled in the corner of the couch and looking impossibly miserable. She hadn't moved an inch and Dean's heart wrenched at the thought that it was extremely wrong for her to look like that. Generally.

He paused for a moment as if not sure what to pick from his long list of to-do things, then heaved a long sigh, tossed car keys and first aid kit onto one of the beds and crouched down in front of her.

"Hey, you still here?"

He smiled softly when she turned her head to look back at him. "Hey." Her voice was weak and hoarse and could hardly be called a sound at all.

"You okay?" His eyes traveled around her face. "Stupid question, I know," Dean admitted on a sigh when she didn't respond. And what did he expect to hear? _Never better_? "Look, we've gotta do something with that cut of yours now, alright?" After a short pause Bela nodded slowly. "Good."

He nodded too, relieved to notice some color appearing on her cheeks again. And her lips no longer were bluish and rimy like those that Leo DiCaprio and Kate Winslet had in their final scene of "Titanic", which looked too creepy even for him. Dammit, he hated himself for even remembering that scene. Sam and his worst taste for movies…

Dean got up and first of all shrugged out of his jacket cringing and making faces all the way. There were not so many things that he liked less than wearing wet clothes. He hated the way they were clinging to his skin making him flinch with revulsion every time he had to move. He hung his jacket onto the back of one of the chairs and then dragged another one closer to the couch to set his first aid kit onto the seat.

"You mind?"

"What are you doing, Dean?" Bela shifted slightly to give him some room and he sat next to her, their hips touching. She could feel the warmth of his body even through their clothes.

"Playing MASH. You woulda saved us both a whole lot of trouble, Bela, if you tried to fall between the rocks." But despite his vague irritation he was gentle and she could all but relax and trust him to know what he was about to do.

Carefully, Dean pulled off the elastic band letting her hair loose. The cut wasn't that big or deep; it was bleeding badly though, just like any other head injure, but it wasn't a big deal. Not for Dean at least. Still, it had to be taken care of.

"Ouch!" She tensed all over when sudden pain brought her back to reality.

"Sorry," he whispered raking his fingers gently through her hair. His breath that was falling on the base of her neck sent shivers down Bela's spine. She swallowed hard and bit her lower lip confused by sudden moment of intimacy.

"I'm fine," she said quietly and tried to concentrate on something neutral, like that feeling of coolness caused by whatever Dean sprinkled on the cotton pad. It smelled nice, like a body lotion, not like regular medical stuff. Besides, she was happy to realize that the whole fun of having a concussion went past her. "You know, you could've taken me to the hospital. Instead of whining."

He winced when she said that. Hospitals. He hated them. And not having legal insurance wasn't exactly helping matters. For the Winchesters hospitals were something that they kept as a last resort. Yeah, there were things that they couldn't handle without a piece of help but there always was a chance that their fake credit cards or forged insurances wouldn't work. The list of side effects of living illegal life was endless. Not that it ever happened before, but why take risks?

"I would," he said, "if you had something that I couldn't cope with myself. Like if you needed stitches or something." He paused and added, "It's just a scratch." A shrug followed, or so Bela guessed assuming the bounce of the couch beneath them. "Besides, what would you say in the hospital? That you decided to try sky-diving while attempting to run away from the Headless Horseman?" He chuckled. "They'd X-ray you just fine, stuff you with the painkillers and lock you in the ward with padded walls."

"Charming," Bela huffed. "No, I'd say that you were my husband and that you beat me with a baseball bat."

"What?! Aw, come on! No one would ever believe that!"

"Why? It happens all the time. Statistically speaking, family violence…"

"No. I mean no one in their right mind would ever believe that we are married," he explained seriously. "Obviously, I am much too good for you, Bela." And after a short consideration. "Okay, let's assume for a moment, theoretically, that they believed you. I'm positive that in a minute or so around you everyone from chief surgeon to part-time janitor woulda taken my side."

Bela snorted. "Just for the record, I would never agree to marry you, even if you were desperate and begging," she pointed out.

"Right back at you, sweetheart," Dean signsonged but his voice was light and his fingers were still tender, and either Bela was stupid and delusional, or it wasn't mean to be an insult.

"Dean?" She called after a little while, and turned her head when he didn't say anything. "Thank you." Their eyes met, and it was the moment when time stopped.

He didn't expect her to turn around. Didn't expect her to be so close that he could practically feel her breath of his lips. Didn't expect…

Say something, you moron! Dean swallowed uneasily. Like _You're welcome_, or _Never mind_, or _Did you do it on purpose?_ Come on, you can do it, before she actually believed that you're too think to form a coherent response!

But the words froze on his lips. So, he just watched her, waiting for God knows what and counting the heartbeats, his or hers he couldn't say. And when Bela's face suddenly drew closer the best he managed to come up with was, "You should take off your clothes."

Bela spluttered for a moment, confused, and pulled back. "I beg your pardon?"

The charm was broken, the magic of the moment gone for good, and Dean rolled his eyes, both relieved and cursing himself, and knowing that whatever choice he'd made, it would be the wrong one.

"Don't be ridiculous!" He felt his cheeks heat up when it came to him how it must have sounded to her, and hopped up from the couch on a sudden urge to close the first aid kit and to put it onto the dresser next to the TV, the speed of his retreat implying that the world would probably end if he didn't do it right away. "I just wanted to take a look at your shoulder to, you know, make sure that it is still where should be." All insulted dignity as if her assumption was the most insane, impossible and offensive thing he had ever head in his life.

"Nice try! But it is doing perfect, thank you, and if you're looking for a free show…"

"If I were, I'd sure as hell know where to go," Dean grimaced, and Bela scowled at him a little more hurt by his behavior than she'd like to admit. "You need to get out of these sopping wet clothes anyway."

And he was right. It felt even worse now that she started to get warm. The slightest stirring of the air was sending goose-bumps down her body.

"Playing caring now, are we?" She said all the same regaining her-bitchy-self surprisingly quickly.

They regarded each other for a while, and then Dean sighed, like it was a truce.

"Look, Bela, I'm serious." Feeling extremely tired all of a sudden as if the events of the night drained him out completely and not at all up to any kind of fight at this point, he ran his fingers through his still wet hair making them stick out in odd spiky kinks. "You need to change before you got… cold." He paused trying to make his mind work in the right direction. "Um… there are bathrobes and towels in the bathroom. You can take a shower…" He trailed off eventually, cleared his throat and looked away. _So not the mental image I need at the moment_. "If you need some help…"

"No, I'll be fine," she assured him hurriedly.

"Sure. Right." Dean cleared his throat once again. "Okay then, I guess I'll go to get some… some aspirin." And beer. Yes, beer. There was plenty of aspirin in the first aid kit but she didn't know that, and he needed some time for himself. And yes, beer was probably a very good idea, too. "I'll be back soon."

On that he was gone, fleeing more or less, leaving Bela all alone with that terrible headache of hers and puzzlement over what had just happened.

She was playing cool about her shoulder though, and it quickly became obvious that getting undressed using only one properly functioning arm was a hell of an entertainment. Save alone the fact that the walls were not exactly steady around her and each movement was weakening Bela even more. The mirror above the sink revealed a huge purplish bruise all over her right shoulder which hurt badly even when she was motionless and holding her breath – maybe having it X-rayed was not such a bad idea. Bela sighed and willed herself to ignore minor damage such as smaller bruises and scratches all over her body for a while.

Drowsiness almost won when the idea to send the whole shower thing to hell and just go to sleep occurred to her, but instead she turned on hot water, leaned her forehead against the tiled wall inside of the cubicle and let herself melt for what seemed like eternity, wincing and groaning each time water drops fell on the wound on her head. Good thing was that it didn't look like anyone could hear her anyway.

When Dean returned to the motel, a six-pack in his hand, feeling like he had just lost a couple of rounds in the fight with wet towels, he found Bela curled up in a ball on the edge of one of the beds, wrapped in a fluffy bathrobe and fast asleep.

He paused in the doorway for a moment before walking in and closing the door behind his back. It squealed quietly in protest but the sound didn't seem to bother her. Sighing, Dean put his beer onto the couch and crossed the room to fetch extra quilt from the depths of a huge wardrobe. Threw it over Bela and went to the bathroom that was still filled with the remains of white steam. It took him ten minutes to believe that his blood finally started turning from blue back to red again, sharp darts of hot water brining him back to life better than anything.

He was exhausted and barely able to stand without staggering and most of all in the world he wished to just collapse onto his bed and fall asleep for the next week, or few. Yet, despite everything, Dean found himself pacing around the room strangely alive with some nervous energy, checking on Bela every now and then to make sure that extended hypothermia didn't backfire and trying to understand the reasons of his anxiety.

In the end he flopped onto the couch and tipped his head back against the back of it, staring up at the ceiling.

Oh, God! Had he almost kissed her? Okay, _they_ had almost kissed, which truthfully wasn't making a big difference to him. What was he doing? What was he thinking?

Dean rubbed his hand over his face. Something was happening between them ever since they met first; something was changing now and he was too tired to keep ignoring it the way he tended to. Not that it had any sense anyway. He almost hated her for that. For the impact she had on him because really, how could it be that Bela wiggled her finely manicured finger and he rushed ahead without a single question?

Well, it wasn't just that of course. He came because he thought it was a case and lives of many people could depend on him, and until he proved that all murders were nothing but a sick game of a homicidal maniac who decided to revive the creepiest Halloween story of all times it still was a case. Sort of. At least he couldn't deny the fact that people were killed. Bela was quite right about one thing after all – had he heard about all of this before her call, they'd most likely come to check it anyway, Halloween or not.

Dean only wished that he could honestly believe that it was all.

Another circle around the room, great distance that it was, a hand through his hair, and he lowered himself onto the edge of the bed beside her. Reading lamps were still on and in their dim light she looked strangely vulnerable, features unfamiliarly soft. Almost human. Soft chuckle escaped his lips at the thought. He let himself tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear and run his fingers down her cheek. God, she was beautiful, and he was a blind dolt if it took him so long to open his eyes and see it. She was beautiful, and he was dying. End of story.

On a sigh, Dean pushed himself up and made his way to his own bed. Didn't bother to change or pull the covers up. He simply slumped onto the comforter and fell asleep as soon as his head touched the pillow, the images of black horses and jack-o-lanterns and headless bodies swirling before his mind's eye until they were all consumed by the hellfire.

* * *

**To be continued…**

Thanks for reading! Reviews are always appreciated :))


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's note:** Okay, here I am with the next chapter. Really sorry it took me a while to update but I was so torn between the convention (yes, the guys are so much better in life than on the screen lol) and catching up with some things here and my current job and searching for the new one. But I will try to keep the updates coming faster :)

Many thanks for your reviews and support :)) I really appreciate it. Hope you'll like the new chap.

* * *

**Chapter 3**

The photograph on the front page of local news-paper was big and colorful, with a headline in tall black letters right above it. Lying on the bed, it was making Dean cringe every time he happened to pass by it. So not something he normally liked to see first thing in the morning, his years of practice and perhaps low standards assumed.

In the end he grabbed Bela's folder from the nightstand where he'd left if the previous night, found his cell phone and sank onto the coach. Dean opened the folder and started turning the pages slowly as he listened to the rings in the receiver. Nine victims over the last week. Two of them knew each other, and maybe it was the key, but then maybe not as the others seemed to have nothing in common at first sight, except that they were all dead now. Dean frowned and rubbed at his forehead. What was the pattern?

Four. Five…

"_Dean?_" Sam picked up the phone after the fifth ring interfering the flow of Dean's thoughts.

"Oh, hey, Sammy!" Dean greeted him cheerfully shaking off the numbness, automatic smile immaculately on his face and voice light. "How're things going? Where are you?"

"_At Bobby's. Are you done there?_"

"Nope, still in Pennsylvania," Dean winced making it sound like Pennsylvania was the last place on Earth where he'd want to be. "Gotta check something here first." His gaze slid to the news-paper again, totally against his will, and he hurried to look away.

"_You mean it's the case after all?_"

"Not really. Sort of. Dunno." Dean paused. "Listen, can you do me a favor?"

"_Sure. What is it?_"

"Can you check a bunch of names for me?" Dean told him all nine of them and waited for Sam to scrabble them down. "I wanna know if these people were connected somehow. Two of them worked in the same company several years back, which isn't a big surprise since this place isn't exactly New York city. But I can't see anything else."

"_No problem. I'll see what I can find, and call you right back._"

"Thanks," Dean relaxed a bit, relieved that Sam didn't bring up the deal and his anxiety – which he started doing often lately, like in each and every conversation! – and all other crap that was making Dean wish to run away because talking about it over and over again knowing that there hardly was anything either of them could do to change the situation was unbearable. Besides, it made no sense. The closer the final date was, the less he wanted to think about it. "I know I could do some research here but…" he trailed off and shrugged apologetically as if Sam could actually see him.

_"Um, Dean…__" _Sam cleared his throat._ "Where are you?"_

"In the motel, why?"

_"Why are you whispering?"_

"What? I am not!" He hissed.

_"There! You did it again. What's going on, man?"_

"Nothing! I am not. I'm just… I'm…" Okay, I'm _what_? Jesus!

_"Oh, God! Dean! What, Bela's there?"_ The lack of an immediate answer was an answer itself. _"Dude…"_

"Look, one thing happened…"

_"_**That**_ thing? What were you thinking?"_

"What?" Dean blinked. "No, not _that_ thing, you perv! It's Bela, for God's sake. _Gross_! There was…um…" _What?_ "An… accident, okay?"

_"An accident__. Right."_

"Bite me, Sam!"

Sam cleared his throat. _"How's she?"_ He asked with deliberate disinterest which Dean figured was mostly a cover for his brother's amusement.

His eyes darted towards the bathroom door, the water was still running behind it. "Annoying and insufferable, as always," he replied casually.

Sam chuckled. _"Hard times, huh?"_ There was some muffled noise on Sam's end of the call which Dean failed to define. Until Sam clarified it. _"Greetings from Bobby, by the way."_

"Thanks. Done with your Halloween costumes yet?"

_"Prepared the brooms."_

"Awesome!" He grinned. "I'll catch up with the two of you as soon as I can, Sam. Promise."

_"Hurry up if you don't want to miss pumpkin pie."_

Pumpkin pie… Damn, he was so going to miss this stuff when… Okay, he had no idea if he was going to miss anything when he was dead. Wasn't sure he'd even remember the taste of anything down in the pit. Maybe he would forget, and some part of him hoped that it would be exactly what would happen because it would probably be easier to suffer if he didn't know what he'd left behind.

"Almost on my way, Samantha. Been practicing much in culinary lately?"

_"You're just jealous, Dean."_

"Sure as hell I am," Dean snorted. "You have fun and pumpkin pie there…"

_"And poker,"_ Sam added.

"Aw, come on! That's just not fair." _Who of us is dying anyway?_ "Fun, pumpkin pie _and_ poker. And me? I have to put up with a thieving… pain in the ass here. I don't see any logic in it."

_"Good luck, dude."_

Obviously, he was going to hang up.

"Wait a sec, Sam." Dean pushed himself off of the couch, came up to his bed and picked up the damned news-paper.

_"What?"_

"Add one more name to the list that I gave you."

Ten victims already.

Bela emerged from the bathroom as soon as he hung up, yawning and looking like… Well, like someone who had a very tough night, what with those dark circles under her eyes and a bruise on her forehead. It wasn't exactly what she normally had to deal with while doing her dirty business, that Dean figured right away. Yet, she was holding on pretty well for someone who nearly ended up in the hospital – or worse, had both of them been a little less lucky. Gee, she wasn't even whining and complaining! It almost deserved some respect!

"What again? You look like someone had just made you swallow a snail." Bela asked, all charm, when she registered a frown on Dean's face and deep crease between his brows. "Or is it just sunny morning that has this effect on you?"

"I bet you haven't seen this yet," Dean threw the folded news-paper at Bela but she didn't bother to try and catch it, out of surprise more than anything, so it landed on the bed right before her.

"A morning news-paper!" Bela's face lit up with excitement. "Who did you steal it from?" Curiously.

"Our neighbor, first door to the right. The man shoulda known better than leaving it without proper attention," Dean shrugged. "What? Gonna go and apologize for me?"

"Be good and I won't go to give you away," Bela flashed a smile at him and grabbed the stolen property on what sounded to her like _"Yeah, you know everything about that"_ although she wasn't entirely sure. "Hope this fuss is not about the lack of cartoons on the last page." Her smile faded away momentarily as soon as her gaze met the headline on the front page. Slowly, she looked up locking her eyes with Dean's and swallowed uneasily, shocked and confused, wishing that the picture of decapitated body weren't so big and clear and, damn it, detailed. "But that's…"

"Yep! Another client. Someone found him early in the morning about a mile away from the track path." About a mile away from where they'd left the car last night. Dean rubbed at his eyes feeling silent fury growing inside of him. No one was supposed to die! Hell, one more life he couldn't save while being so close… It felt even worse now that he knew the exact number of his own days to live. "This guys work fast, I must say." He nodded towards the news-paper that Bela was still holding in her hands. "This folk barely had time to die and – _voila!_ – he's already a local celebrity. They either had hard time rearranging their lead or they knew the murder was going to happen. Think they could've known it?"

"Is that what you ask people when you wiggle your fake ID of the FBI agent before their noses?"

"No, I can be sensible and compassionate when necessary," Dean disagreed with light smile.

"Mm, hardly believable," Bela regarded him, one brow arched elegantly. "Did they identify the body?"

"Yeah," Dean's smile dimmed. "The one named Ron Jenkins. Rings a bell?"

"No, why would it?"

"Just making sure," his eyes narrowed suspiciously for a moment. "Anyway, the whole thing is on page three. To sum it up and save your precious time, the guy went jogging last evening after the dinner and never came back again. His wife called the police."

"And his… head--"

"No trace of it."

Bela tossed the news-paper away as if it was something disgusting, like a dead rat or a pile of dirty socks, and shivered despite herself at the thought that it was probably a matter of unbelievable luck that she didn't take place of Ron Jenkins, whoever he was.

"What are we going to do now?" She asked forcing the image of possible outcome of her encounter with the spirit out of her mind, all business at once.

"I'm going to have a look at the crime scene and see if police missed something… that they weren't quite looking for, ya'know." Dean told picking up his jacket.

"You?" Bela's brows shot up in surprise.

Dean gave her a long appraising once-over.

"From now on, feel free to consider yourself off duty," he said pushing his arms through the sleeves.

"Excuse me? I must have missed the part where I was _asking_ for your permission to be a part of this case."

"You're out of it."

"You're not leaving me behind," she scowled at him.

"Yeah, that's exactly what I'm doing. Go have a manicure or something. Have fun." Dean waved his hand dismissively at her. "I can't think about the job and about covering your ass at the same time."

"Too much mental work for you, yeah?" Bela folded her arms on the chest and added pity to her eyes.

He made funny face and stuck his tongue out at her feeling pretty stupid for the childish gesture, like he was some friggin' five-year old.

"I'm not going to take risks only because you're greedy beyond measure, sweetheart," on a wide smirk.

_Because he didn't want her to get killed_, Dean added mentally angry with himself at the thought. Because he… _cared_, in a way, damn it, which felt odd and uncomfortable and not quite right in his situation. Not because of _her_ in particular, of course. It had nothing to do with Bela personally. He simply didn't want anyone to be hurt, or so he wanted to believe knowing in the back of his mind that he was lying to himself once again. But he… He wasn't a team-player. He didn't know what it felt like to worry about someone in that way – someone who wasn't Sam or Dad. Least of all Bela Talbot. He didn't like the feeling. Last night she gave him a great deal of gray hair and Dean wasn't looking forward to ever experiencing it again.

The discovery made Dean's own scowl deepen. He so needed to get over with all that crap and be out of here before… yeah, before it was too late.

"I see. And you got so altruistic how exactly?" Bela cocked her head slightly, eyes big and looking at him with sincere and innocent curiosity.

"It was a small bug that bit me back when I was a kid and poisoned me with humanity," Dean explained patiently as he searched for the car keys in the pockets. He wanted to make a crack on her probably having similar experience with the rattlesnake venom but decided to bite his tongue instead, knowing better than that.

"That so?"

Bela followed him to the car, yanked open the passenger's door without merest respect to Dean's joy and pride and took her seat before he had time to open his mouth to protest.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Dean growled ducking his head to look at her through his window.

"I'm going with you."

"No, you're not!"

"Yes, I am. And it is not a matter of negotiation. Please."

"Get out, Bela," he growled. "I don't have friggin' time for your games."

Bela buckled her seatbelt and looked down her nose at Dean who was definitely fuming and obviously debating the idea of hauling her out of the Impala.

"Try and make me change my mind," she offered with a mixture of challenge and threat.

On a huff Dean straightened up and gave last parting look to the motel room door considering… damn, so many things, and wondering how dragging Bela out of the car would backfire. But the truth was, everything that had happened the previous night and the news that arrived in the morning kind of threw him out in a way. All of that, and Death that was almost literary hovering in his shadow. Dean could even swear that from time to time he could see it when he chanced a glance over his shoulder. Too many disorienting things on his mind and right at the moment he was so not up to keeping a fight with that bull of a woman who, Dean was sure, could irritate shit out of Devil himself.

Shaking his head at the last thought, Dean erased a grin from his face, put on his best pissed-off expression and finally slid into the car. He snorted when she acknowledged his appearance by arching her brows, buckled his own seatbelt and did whatsoever to make it crystal clear that the idea of having her for a company was the least appealing of all. Displeased crease between Dean's brows deepened at the sight of her lips curving into a small half-smile. Hell, she seemed to be enjoying his obvious annoyance.

"Fine," he muttered turning the key in the ignition. "But when it comes to swinging, you're on your own."

***

"I saw him, Dean!" Bela snapped finally losing her cool and groaned with frustration when she thought she heard him smirk.

They were arguing. Again. No surprise here. Sitting in the Impala and heading north-west – towards the woods – once again, which okay, wasn't a big deal in the daylight when all possible primitive fears that only appeared when darkness was falling seemed utterly ridiculous and generally impossible.

Yet, Bela still had one fear left. It was mainly about one of them not making it to the final destination alive with the conversation heating up so quickly. And, God help her, she was almost sure she knew who would that be.

Her mood was steadily slipping ever since Dean tried to calm her down in that damned concerned voice that must have been working with hysterical blondes and little old ladies feeding her a bunch of crap about illusions and hypothermia and tricks of mind. Like he knew a thing about any of that! Oh, please! His, she knew, was slipping since she told him to go right to hell, and although Dean was doing his best to keep his poker face – yeah, she could see that even through the veil of rage before her eyes – but his jaw was twitching and his dead grip on the steering wheel was enough to tell her everything she needed to know.

Dean darted a quick glance at her feeling his brows drawing together against his will. The clouds were gray and low in the sky, just like the day before, promising more rain later perhaps, and absently he found them reflecting the mood he was in – dark and practically boiling inside, ready to burst out like a severe thunderstorm. Honestly, Dean couldn't tell what was holding him back for so long.

He threw the car into park in the exact same spot he left it the night before relieved to notice that everything looked quiet and deserted, and killed the engine. Thankfully, the police was long gone.

"Look, I'm not saying that you haven't seen anything, okay?" Dean pushed the door open. A rush of cold wind made him shiver involuntarily. "I'm just saying that it wasn't the Headless Horseman."

Bela climbed out right after him nearly pushed back by another blast and slammed the door furiously ignoring the burning glare that Dean gave her for treating his beloved car that way.

"Then who do you think it was?" She asked keeping her voice intentionally calm.

"I don't know," Dean rolled his eyes as he started down the barely seen path. "A moose." Bela snorted walking by his side, her arms folded on her chest, both as indication of her attitude and as a way to keep warmer. "A rabbit." He made a face. "It was dark like hell, for God's sake! I wonder how you saw anything at all."

"I saw the damned horse with… with something riding it." She repeated once again – for what felt like a millionth time since she woke up in the morning and found Dean Winchester treating her like she had serious mental problems which wasn't exactly what she was in a mood to put up with. Not after all the fun she'd been through lately. "You wanted to find the Headless Horseman. I saw him. What's your problem now, Dean? What do you want me to say so that you finally started taking me seriously?"

"I'm taking you seriously," he said quickly.

"Then why can't you just believe me?"

_Because I still have some sanity left_, he thought darkly. "Mm, where to start?"

She pursed her lips and didn't dignify _that_ with an answer.

"So?"

"What?"

"Why, Dean?"

"Because…" He started but cut off shrugging and cleared his throat.

"What?" She growled.

"Well, see, you're still alive…"

"More of less," Bela made a face. "Much to your dismay, obviously. I take it, it's the fact that I'm still breathing that makes you so skeptical. Cute!"

Dean cringed inwardly at her wording.

"Aw, come on! If it really was honest-to-God Headless Horseman, in the flesh – figuratively speaking – why didn't he kill you?"

Bela stumbled, surprised. That thought never occurred to her.

"Why, thank you! It is what, the nicest thing that I've ever heard from you?"

"No, seriously. He let you escape just like that. Why? No one ever was lucky enough to get out alive, right? According to the legends or whatever. And don't tell me that _I slipped and fell_ thing, sweetheart." He raised his hand when Bela only opened her mouth to disagree, his voice on _I slipped and fell_ high pitched and girlish, all impression ruined by his poor attempt to imitate her British accent. "A spirit wouldn't have a problem with that."

"Are you trying to make me regret that I made it out in one piece or what?"

Her question gave Dean a start. "Listen, it's not what I…"

"You say a word about me having hallucinations, Dean, and I swear to God I'll beat you with my shoe."

It was so not her gig to be some freak! The very idea, together with Dean Winchester and his sympathetic looks that couldn't escape her were setting her teeth on edge. At this point, Bela's words were almost a dare. She wanted to have an excuse to punch him. Yet, he seemed to know better than that.

"So, what exactly are we looking for here?" She asked after a while if only to put an end to their silence. After what she saw last night, the whole place was giving Bela creeps making her wish to look over her shoulder every now and then to make sure they weren't followed. She was getting paranoid.

"I'll tell you when I find." And he gave her a cheeky smile.

***

The crime scene was three trees in the middle of nowhere with yellow police tape fluttering in the wind around them. It was impossible to make a usual outline with white chalk on wet fallen leaves so the position of body was marked with several sticks labeled to indicate the details. Still, it wouldn't have looked like a crime scene at all if only it wasn't for a huge crimson spot of blood, also marked and labeled to define its size.

Other than that, Dean found a terrible lot of footprints as if every single cop from every single unit in the state had been there that morning. That, and what Dean could have sworn looked exactly like tire tracks although there was no was he could've imagined any car coming that far into the forest. On the other hand, they had to transport the body somehow, so…

So they did a very good job with making it generally impossible for Dean to find anything of interest.

Frowning, he squatted down at the very edge between the crime scene and the rest of the world and peered intensely at the ground, knowing with one hundred percent accuracy that his chances to see something that could have helped him understand what had actually happened there were way below zero. All kinds of footprints were hardly of any use.

"If only the cops knew how much the fucked everything up," Dean shook his head, annoyed.

"They'd sure as hell call you first before starting the investigation, yeah?" Bela snorted somewhere behind.

He looked at her over his shoulder. "I coulda used that, ya'know. But this," he gestured around indicating the clearing, the crime scene and a great deal of forest with one sweep of his hand, "is a big fat pile of nothing."

"Well, what did you expect, Dean? Police, paramedics, journalists and God knows who else. Strange that we see what we see. Honestly, I thought the place would resemble a battlefield. How about your hound's nose? Doesn't work anymore? I thought you could find anything anywhere."

Damn this woman, Dean thought. But she was right, no matter how much he hated to admit it even in his mind. He shouldn't have expected much. Thoughtfully, he rubbed his chin and then stood up slowly, listening intensely – whether for the outer sounds or for the voice inside of his head to tell him what to do next he didn't know. But the good thing was that today everything around there felt different, what with these birds' chirping and other natural noises. It looked and sounded the way it was meant to, not dead, except for the yellow police tape.

"You know, actually…" He started, turning to Bela. But she wasn't looking at him. Head cocked and eyes narrowed, she was peering somewhere past him. "Bela?"

"What the…"

She went past Dean and around the marked spot led by whatever it was what caught her attention. He followed her gaze trying to see what she was seeing but failed and simply went after her instead, tripping on the stones and broken branches hidden under the fallen leaves and cursing under his breath. The day wasn't sunny and despite Dean's expectation the air was only getting colder as time was passing by. The memory of the previous night was practically rushing him back to the car, away from this place. Yet, one thing didn't let him do that – the picture of what this clearing looked like several hours ago. Not marked by blood.

Bela stopped at the tall tree, head thrown back and a frown on her face.

Dean looked up as well and started at what looked like a lot of very nice branches, most of them naked and knotty, looking like crooked fingers reaching into the sky. Very Addams Family view, he had to admit. He shuddered at the mental comparison. Damn his way too rich imagination.

"So, the tree," Dean drawled, his face grave. He looked at Bela. "Old friend of yours?"

She ignored him completely as if he wasn't anywhere there at all and reached for the lowest branch instead, her intentions more than obvious.

"Did I miss something?"

"Just help me up, would you please?" She huffed giving him a glare.

She didn't look like the one to argue with. Besides, she seemed to have a vague idea of what she was doing, so Dean swallowed his offer to help – not that she'd appreciate it anyway, ungrateful bitch that she was – and obliged without a word, curious. He linked his fingers to make a step for her foot and hoisted Bela up without so much of an effort – yeah, that he could do! – fascinated by how she was making her way up the tree with the grace of a wild cat.

"You're doing pretty good I must say," he commented to fill the silence more than anything.

Bela gave him a quick look from above and smirked. "Stop staring at my ass, Dean."

She could have sworn that he blushed a little although it was hard to say for sure assuming these fifteen feet between them and chilly air but he definitely hurried to look away making Bela smile to herself as soon as she turned away as well to get back to her task in hand.

She made her way up without any difficulty, her movements smooth and professional as though it was exactly what she was doing every day. Putting her weight on her left arm mostly, she was using the right one for support whenever there was need for it. Yet, she had to be very careful since the branches and the trunk were still wet and not really reliable in the matter of safety after the recent rain. Bela paused half way to her destination to catch a breath and throw another quick look down not quite fond of the height. Should she slip accidentally, her fall wouldn't be pretty. Saw Dean standing there with his head up and watching her, and continued her ascending cursing herself for not just letting him have all the fun.

"Are you robbing birds' nests or what?" Dean shouted.

"Asking from experience?"

The thing that Bela spotted from below wasn't all that high, some twenty or twenty five feet at most. She reached it in no time, really, even if it felt longer. Left hand clenched tightly around the branches, she retrieved her pocket knife from the back pocket of her jeans, flicked it open and effortlessly cut the rope that was tying the thing to the tree. Paused to give it a brief examining look and hemmed but decided to put her curiosity away till she had solid ground beneath her feet once again.

Bela stashed both her knife and her finding into the pocket of her jacket and started her slow way down moving automatically and generally on instinct; the flow of her thoughts – more questions than answers – streaming through her head.

Well, it was making sense after all. As much as any other crazy thing in this crazy world. And Dean Winchester might as well suck up…

Too lost in her thoughts, Bela let go off her concentration for a moment. She put her foot improperly on the lower branch and suddenly it slipped off the slick surface. The grip of her left hand on one of the branches tightened but it was too thick to hold on to it firmly. Instinctively, she grasped another one with her right hand. Her muscles flexed and immediately sharp pain shot through her injured shoulder and down her arm.

The foot that by this moment had already had no support forgotten, Bela gasped in pain and unclenched her fingers, panic arriving too late. She knew she was going to fall again – what was wrong with this damned place?! – and knew she could hardly do anything about it. It just happened too fast, too…

Dean saw that something went wrong– couldn't miss it, naturally, what with his eyes never leaving Bela – and right away he knew where it led. Strange how it looked to him, like a slow motion replay, with her being alright one moment and losing her balance some ten minutes later, each second stretching to a minute. Even with fifteen feet between them he saw how her fingers slipped off the rough surface, grazed against it one more time in an attempt to have better grip but it didn't work. He stretched his arms out even before the image registered fully in his mind, and the next moment she slipped right into the circle of them, surprised, and grasped at his shoulders for support. Dean staggered from the impact but somehow managed to keep them both from falling, his arms holding her tight against his body.

Bela caught her breath when, without a warning, she was flooded by the smell and warmth of him; the touch of his palms felt almost burning to her waist even through several layers of her clothes.

Now that was unexpected, Bela thought staring at Dean's face and taking small sharp intakes of breathe to calm down, her heart pounding like crazy in her chest confused by the unexpected intimacy of the moment. The realization that she was not going to break anything and end up in the hospital or elsewhere any time soon making its way slowly into her mind. Against better judgment they kept still for a long moment staring at each other.

"Thank you," Beal breathed out when some time passed and none of them moved and she felt like she had to do something about it even if she didn't really want to.

"Couldn't make it easy even now, sweetheart?"

"Let go off me," she scowled momentarily. He might have as well poured out a bucket of cold water on her head.

He obliged by jerking his hands away from her. Feeling strangely embarrassed by whatever it was that had just happened, Dean looked up the tree once again since it was the only thing he could do without making it obvious that he was avoiding her eyes and cleared his throat.

"So, what have you got, Bela? Or was this trip up just for fun?"

Not saying a word, Bela fished out her trophy and tossed it at Dean.

He caught it automatically and peered at it, puzzled. Looked up at her then. "A hex bag?" His voice unbelieving.

"You're even smarter than I thought," she snorted. "Right, genius. A hex bag. The question is – protecting or summoning?" She folded her arms on the chest.

"Depends on the contents," Dean threw the brown leather bag into the air like a ball and caught it right away. "And on why someone left it here." His eyes darted up once again.

"Could be just a coincidence," Bela shrugged.

Dean scoffed and gave her a skeptical look. "There is no such thing as coincidence. Not when this kind of stuff is involved." And he shook the bag before her face. "Any bright ideas?"

"I found it," she pointed out ducking away from his hand. "The rest is up to you, Dean. Fair share."

And, damn it, she said it like they were two kids making sure that their house chores were divided equally and no one had to do more than the other which caused Dean to chuckle. He thought she was more mature than that. Yet, she did spot the frigging hex bag – and where were his eyes, for that matter? – so…

"It's not like…" Dean began on an instinctive urge to argue against every word coming out of Bela's mouth, and hey, his ability to get her Brit slang improved since the previous day! He felt anything but proud of it.

But at this point he was rudely interrupted by a faint "Help!" followed after a short pause by a fainter "Hello?" and something else that he couldn't understand clearly, the wind and constant noise carrying the sound of the voice away from them.

Both Dean and Bela froze and then exchanged puzzled looks.

"You hear that?" Dean asked in a low voice at the exact same time when Bela wondered:

"Where is it coming from?"

"Um… there?" Dean looked around and poked his finger somewhere behind his back, unsure.

"I think it's there," she supposed nodding in the opposite direction, also pretty uncertain. It seemed to her that the voice was all around them, and it faded away too fast to register the source.

"We've gotta find him… them. Wherever they are," Dean muttered with firm determination and started into the forest picking random direction.

"How…?" Bela followed him through the bushes giving up mentally on her clothes.

"Hey!" Dean called out loudly and stopped for a moment to listen for possibly response before starting to walk again. "Where are you?"

"Oh, crap!" Bela cursed as she tripped and barely caught her balance before she flew face down to the ground.

"You okay there?" Dean asked without a hint of concern and not looking back.

"Terrific," she huffed blowing her hair off of her face and making attempts to burn Dean Winchester down to ashes with her eyes.

He muttered back something incomprehensible as if he didn't really care. "Hello? Hey, keep talking, okay?" Obviously addressing mysterious person in trouble, which made Bela grit her teeth.

Finally, she caught up with him and they stopped between two enormous oaks.

"Now what, Mr. Nice Guy?" She asked trying to steady her breath.

"It wasn't just me, you heard it, too," Dean told her defensively.

Hands on her hips, Bela regarded him with a great deal of condescension, her head cocked slightly to her shoulder. "Yes, I don't deny obvious things. And wasn't it you…" She started in mock surprised voice.

"Anybody there?" The same voice shouted suddenly interrupting her although it didn't quite look like shouting, too low to be called so. "I'm here! Help me!" And wherever this _here_ was, it definitely was much closer than the previous time. Now it was clear that the voice belonged to a man, a young one, no doubt.

Dean snapped his head to the right, all alert. He scanned the area as if attempting to see through the trees and earth.

"There," he breathed out and started to run, Bela close on his heels without a word. "Keep talking!" He yelled back. "Damn it," under his breath.

He was the first to reach the spot – a small clearing with its floor covered with dry branches. It was impossible to miss the gap somewhere around the middle of it, definitely a hole. Dean skidded to a halt burying the heels of his boots into the ground, the speed of his pace too high to make his stop immediate. His arms flew into the air to keep his balance, and the next moment Bela stumbled into his back, unable to stop just as quickly as she didn't expect him to do so.

"What? Black cat crossed your path?" She asked taking a small step back and then sneaked a peek into the clearing over Dean's shoulder with curiosity.

"Careful," he warned her in a low whisper, eyes never leaving the gap. "Hey, you there?" he called out. _Whoever you are_.

There was a gasp, loud and surprised. "Oh, my God. Please, help me! Get me outta here!" The voice was frightened, hope and panic ringing in it – hard to say which of them was dominating. "Don't leave, please!"

"Calm down, buddy, okay? No one's going anywhere." Dean assured quickly that invisible victim of bloody carelessness. And how else could one end up like that if not because of not paying proper attention to where they were going?

Natural hole or a man-made trap covered with branches, it did its job just fine.

"Gotta get him out of there," Dean told Bela, and she nodded curtly. "Watch out, it could be bigger than that," he nodded towards the gap about two feet in diameter considering their possibilities and obvious risks.

Together they cleared off some branches, careful not to step onto them until they were sure there was solid ground beneath them instead of God knows how much emptiness.

Finally two heads poked into what turned out to be a hole four feet in diameter and narrowing to the bottom. It wasn't that deep, some fifteen feet or less but steep uneven walls were making climbing out of it without a rope or help pretty much impossible.

The light falling into it revealed a teen boy with a face covered with mud stains and rumpled hair, his clothes and hands dirty as well. Apparently, he was optimistically trying to make it out on his own. For a while at least. Right at the moment he was covering his eyes with his hand, squinting as he tried to have a better look at his saviors.

"Hey there, kiddo," Dean greeting him relieved to see no obvious damage. "You okay?"

The boy hesitated, torn between giving honest answer – _What the hell do you expect to hear? Do I look okay?!_ – and gratitude. "Guess so," he replied after a pause. "Can you help me out?"

"Sure thing." _I only have to figure out how, and we're done_. "How did you get there?"

"I… I was running… and then I was here. I… fell, I guess."

"Don't you people ever look where you go in the forest?" Dean mumbles chuckling and giving Bela a pointed meaningful look.

She let his comment slip – had to fight back a wish to elbow him wherever she could reach – and frowned when sudden realization, a _guess_, struck her.

"Are you Mark?" She demanded.

"Yeah," he responded. "How'd you know?" With surprise.

"Yeah, how'd you know?" Dean echoed beside her as his head turned towards her.

Bela was looking at the boy but she could literary feel Dean's gaze. "It's his Daddy who is financing this search party," she explained in a whisper, and added louder so that Mark could hear her, too. "We've been looking for you."

He seemed to be okay with such explanation not quite interested in details, and honestly, she couldn't blame him for that. "Oh," was all that he said. "Um… thanks."

"Just stay put down there, Mark, alright? We're going to get you out right away," Dean promised somewhat cheered by the fact that they managed to accomplish at least one task and fins something – someone – beside the questionable hex bag.

He straightened up, face puckered with thoughts. Bela watched expectedly as he kept throwing quick looks around and into the hole and then at her and then around again. Finding the boy seemed to give him a new burst of energy – something to concentrate on instead of lazy wandering around the woods.

"Okay, no way to drag his ass up without a rope," he admitted in the end. "I'll go to get one from the car. You stay here," he instructed Bela looking very busy by the second and wiggled his finger at her for good measure.

"What?! Again? No!" She protested.

Dean took a breath. And there they were again!

"Look, the kid's freaked out like hell," he lowered his voice so that Mark couldn't hear. "How long he's been here? Five days? We can't just both walk away. He'll go crazy! Can't you be human just for once? I'll be right back."

Bela clenched her teeth holding back a string of arguments against his offer. The idea of staying alone in the damned forest – oh, yeah, with a spooked teen, probably starving and barely holding on after all this time in this trap – was not exactly her idea of fun. What a consolation! The day was getting better and better. Wonderful!

Yet, it wasn't exactly what she was up to saying out loud to Dean Winchester. She wasn't some whining princess, for God's sake! He was so not going to forget it – like, ever! So, she only gave him a glare, the one that would probably kill him had it been possible.

"Fine!" Dean beamed when she said nothing and patted her one the shoulder with such enthusiasm that Bela's knees almost buckled. Her frown deepened but the next moment he was gone and her irritation was left unappreciated. Who the hell he thought he was, that bloody arrogant annoying…

"Hey, um… he's left, right?" The sound of Mark's voice gave Bela a start snapping her back to reality. "He's not there anymore?"

Absently, Bela looked at where Dean disappeared.

"We need the rope to get you out," she said keeping her voice calm and soothing. "He'll be back soon."

"No, not that guy you cam with." Mark shook his head. "This… creature."

"Creature?" As suspicious started to build inside of her, Bela knelt at the edge of the hole once again and looked at the boy's face not quite sure she liked the conversation in general. "What creature?"

"I don't know." He didn't seem to like it any better than she. "All black and big, I was running away from it before I ended up here. Tell me it's not somewhere there anymore."

Mark's words made Bela's blood run cold in her veins and she felt her hair rising on the back of her head. She swallowed uneasily and bit her lip. Her eyes darted back and towards the trees once again as she mentally hushed Dean to come back soon. God, could this thing be here in the daylight?

His cell phone started to ring when Dean was nearing the Impala. His breath heavy from the run, he flipped it open while retrieving the car keys from the pocket of his jacket. His fingers grazed against the hex bag. Was it just him and his damned overreaction or could he really feel _something_ watching him? Dean paused to give the trees a long look and shook his head. It was so not right!

"Sam?" He dove into the trunk searching for what he came here for in the first place and came out with a thick hank. "Tell me you found something."

"_Actually, I did_."

* * *

**To be continued...**

Reviews are always appreciated! Thanks!


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's note**: Hey, everyone! I know, I know, it's been two weeks or so but my life is really a bit too crazy now, what with looking for a new job and some other major changes. Thanks for being patient, really :))

Summer hiatus is a disaster for me, but I still keep my fingers crossed for Bela to be back in Season 5. I know, there was no info and there probably won't be *sighs*

But anyway, here is new chap and I hope you'll like it :))

* * *

**Chapter 4**

It was a long shot, and maybe a pretty bad idea too, especially without having Sam around to cover his sorry ass, and Dean knew it. And it definitely was something that his brother would call _unnecessary stupid risk_, something that Sam probably had in mind when he'd told Dean to stay out of trouble. Well, risk or not, but it was the only choice that Dean had, whether he liked it or not. And anyway, after all these years with Dad, and then with Sam, fighting evil bastards and doing his best to make this crappy world a little better he could hardly imagine himself hiding under the blanket only because one of said bastards was soon going to get his hands on him. Devil might as well go to hell with his plans. Oh, wait a moment, he already was there. Well, less trouble then.

The thrill of his cell phone broke into the flow of Dean's thoughts. He groped for it keeping his eyes on the road and then, after a short hesitation, turned it off instead of answering when he saw Bela's name on the caller ID. From now on he was working alone, out of wish to get the work done as fast as possible more than anything, especially after what Sam told him earlier today. There was no way to check his theory with Bela sticking around and making _I-know-it-all_ comments in her usual charming style. Maybe. He didn't know for sure. Hell, he didn't even know if this bloody theory was anything but a big pile of shit.

Dean threw quick glance at the electronic clock blinking on the dashboard. Several hours earlier he dropped Bela and that Mark boy off at the hospital and let her deal with this Big Daddy business on her own, not that she minded anyway. Back then she seemed to be sort of relieved to get rid of him, probably liking the idea of keeping him away from her business. At this point he considered their team work over and now it was his turn to find out what the hell was going on in the damned woods and preferably make it stop. On his own.

The hex bag turned out to be of a summoning kind, not of a protection one like he half hoped – oh, right, like any of his hopes ever were justified! – and with Mark's story, not that he said much, about something chasing him followed by Bela's _I-told-you-so-you-moron_ glare, and Sam's information it was making a rather screwed situation that even the best, or worst Halloween pranks couldn't beat.

So, whatever Bela wanted to say, Dean wasn't up to another fight at the moment. Not when he had other things on his mind. And since the fight was inevitable... He didn't have to keep her informed on his every step, for God's sake! Not that it was his idea of working together anyway. Not that such idea could _ever_ occur to him.

Dean left the car at the clearance not far from where Ron Jenkins was killed less than 24 hours ago, once again happy about the fact that the love of his life was black, which worked so well for conspiracy. The place was completely deserted once again, but then again, Dean couldn't blame them. Apparently, even police didn't want to stick around here, what with all the inexplicable deaths that took place lately and shady reputation of the entire area. But who was he to complain? Dean chuckled softly to himself.

The night was clear and the air was chilly and his breath was puffing out in small clouds as he was making his way pretty much into nowhere doing nothing to keep his whereabouts secret. Holding flashlight in one hand, he tucked his shotgun into the waistband of his jeans and retrieved EMF from the pocket of his jacket. The thing creaked once, without any enthusiasm, and then died out, not at all interested in helping Dean in his search.

"Huh?" He gave EMF a slight shake and then shook his head. "Terrific." Everything was clear. No paranormal activity. So, now what? "Hey, ghosty, ghosty, ghosty!" He called out as though the spirit was a lost puppy and looked around checking EMF once again. Nothing. Not even one bloody squeal. "Aw, come on! Show up already! I don't want to freeze my ass here only because you're not in a chatty mood, dude!"

No one seemed to be caring for his comfort much though, which was insulting, or so Dean took it. Dying man deserved to have some privileges, no? Even people sentenced to death had their last wish (and Dean always wondered if any of them ever wished to stay alive and been granted that). He? He only got all sorts of trouble so far.

Dean sighed and looked up at the full moon casting its pale light at everything below and giving it silver-bluish shades. Well, at least there was no need for the flashlight this time. The silence was eerie and yet somewhat comforting. He took several deep breaths before continuing his walk feeling his lungs with fresh air.

Okay, maybe he picked the wrong time or the wrong day or… Wait a minute! Maybe after Bela removed the hex bag the summoning was no longer working? Now that was just great! And what was he supposed to do now? Put it back? Gee, awesome!

"Just tell me it isn't anything personal, man," Dean chuckled surprised by how far his voice seemed to go when there were no other sounds, and then added under his breath, "Because if it is, believe me, I'm going to hold it against you." _Since talking to myself is kinda mental at any rate anyway_.

He was about to turn around and head back to the motel, to cable TV and beer – because, firstly, this wild goose chase wasn't exactly his idea of fun and it probably was a good idea to make a better research first, maybe talk to Mark again and see if he could recall any other details beside "big, black and scary", and secondly, freezing to his bones for the second night in a row wasn't anywhere in his plans either – when the sound that Dean least expected to hear broke through the rest of other noises making him go completely still.

The hoofs. No doubt about that. And heavy breath mixed with random snorts.

Dean span around and took a step back, shocked and not expecting the damned thing to be so close, barely five feet away and so perfectly visible in the moonlight that it made goose-bumps crawl up Dean's spine.

The horse was tall and muscular. He was no expert but it seemed to be quite bigger than any other horse he'd ever come across in his life. It stood there snorting softly and stamping impatiently on the frozen earth with the front leg. On top of it Dean saw a man, all in black, his gloved hands holding the rein. It took him a second to register the picture and realize what was not right. Mesmerized, he tore his gaze away from the metal stirrups gleaming in the dim light and then traced his eyes up the man's legs and broad chest to the place where the head was supposed to be, and then swallowed hard.

The horseman didn't have a head.

Slowly, Dean stuffed dead EMF back into the pocket – and what use was of it anyway? – and reached for the shotgun loaded with rock-salt rounds. The very idea of using something like that against the Horseman and his pet seemed ridiculous to the core. And why wouldn't EMF detect the ghost? And, for God's sake, how could it get so close without him noticing? Oh, yeah, the ghost. And still, why wouldn't EMF detect it?!

The horse jerked its head up and down making Dean shake off his numbness.

"Whoa, man! Easy there. Are you Goth or what?" Backing slowly, Dean chuckled nervously all not so sure the Horseman could hear him at all, what with him not having ears. The threat coming from it was almost tangible in the air rolling on Dean like huge waves. "No wonder you're so gloomy. You need to so something with that style of yours and stop hanging out only at night."

He was trying to sound casual, playing cool as best he could and knowing way too well that he wasn't pulling it because okay, he could admit it to himself – and to himself only – that he DID NOT expect to see the bloody Headless Horseman when he was planning this little night trip. Well, not really. A bit thick-headed here, yeah? But his only witnesses were a professional liar and a teen with far too rich imagination. And, oh yeah, someone with Alzheimer perhaps. Gee, why wouldn't he trust any one them?

When the horse made a small step forward Dean finally concentrated enough to see that its eyes were indeed gleaming with eerie red glow, not to obvious in the moonlight like they'd probably be in complete darkness. Momentarily he raised his gun and pulled the trigger. The echo of deafening shot scattered across the woods and died in the distance. Yet, the load went right through the ghost without any significant damage. The Headless Horseman did not blow off like a balloon pinched with a needle – the way his kind normally did. He remained where he was, looking solid as rock, with the only exception that Dean saw with his own eyes how he was hit with the rock salt. That was so not good!

Still, it seemed to be enough to piss the guy off pretty badly. The horse buckle kicking the air with its front legs and before Dean had time to blink, the Horseman drew out a sword, its blade winked at Dean teasingly reflecting the moonlight, and raised it above his head. Or at least above where the head was supposed to be.

"Oh, crap," Dean muttered to himself taking another small step back and wishing he could simply dissolve in the air. "Listen, man, I'm sorry," he said a bit louder. "Let's not be twelve and get over it, okay? You go your way, I go mine. What'd you say?"

The horse huffed and jerked its head up and down, as if saying, "_Yeah, rrrright!_" And this was the moment when Dean realized that the trick didn't work and the fun was over. If Sam was right – and unfortunately geek boy had a tendency to be right – then Dean was in a big trouble, what with the rock salt not working, to begin with.

Dean turned around and started to run fully aware of his more than low chances to win this race. Statistically speaking, it was hardly possible for a man to outrun the horse, physically. Leave alone outraged ghost horse, and frustrated snorting behind his back and undoubtedly quickened pace of their run left no questions about animal's mood.

So, what was plan B now, Dean thought absently concentrated mostly on not tripping. His lungs were burning by this time and striving for air badly, not quite satisfied with small sharp intakes of breath he was taking. His legs hurt, and although the moonlight was enough to make his earlier walk safe, it was far too dim for the cross. Strange that his eyes still were where they belonged, he decided grimly; he had all chances to have them poked out with the branches.

The horse was closing in, Dean could feel it, and also he could have sworn that the movement of the air above his head every now and then was a result of the sword being swung in his direction. Damn! The last time was a bit too close for comfort.

Dean turned to the right abruptly, barely missing yet another trunk of the tree as he figured out that for a horse carrying a man it would not be as easy to do the same thing, and that could probably win him a moment or two. It was all he needed, just to gulp some air. But still, the problem remained. He didn't know where to run and with rock salt being useless – what a tease! – he had no idea how else to deal with all this shit. Of course, right at the moment, the only option was to keep running until he collapsed, exhausted. Meaning, he was only putting off the inevitable. And wasn't it the best realization he had ever had? Oh, one more – it wasn't like the ghost could ever get tired.

Another turn, to the left now, when he started to feel hot breath of the animal falling on the back of his head. Yet, he didn't risk to look over his shoulder to check if his followers really were that close scared to run into the tree and put and end to everything right there and then.

It was probably the spell, Dean guessed. The summoning spell was keeping the ghost safe from the rock salt, like a shield. Not exactly the most comforting thought as well.

He tripped but managed not to fall, his arms threw up into the air awkwardly. And since when the bloody shotgun had got so heavy? His strength was quickly running out, and the worst thing was that Dean was fully aware of it. As well as of what would follow. How long was this wild chase going anyway? Five minutes? Ten? An hour? Felt pretty much like forever. And how much time did he have? More than a moment or less?

Being run over by the horse or chopped into confetti by its owner wasn't quite Dean's idea of dying, truth be told. Not that going to hell was any better either, he had to admin, but come on! _This_ was almost shameful!

Another turn – he didn't care where he was running anymore since he had no idea where he was anyway – and suddenly big black figure was right in front of him, apparently sick and tired of this cat and mouse game. Bad thing about ghosts was that they didn't exactly need to _run_. Dean skidded to a halt almost stumbling into the heavy-breathing horse, heart racing in his chest so fast that he was pretty sure it had very good chances of jumping out of his throat had he dared to open his mouth wide enough.

He was tired and oxygen-thirsty brain refused to start thinking. The long-desired break felt almost like a relief.

Dean watched the Headless Horseman standing right before him as he kept gasping hungrily for air. He needed a plan. Now. Before he was turned into spaghetti. A decapitated spaghetti, speaking of that. Bloody hell, it was so not cool! Almost like having his ass kicked by the girl or something. Yet, nothing good came to his mind, and some part of him stopped caring at some point.

It was like a game now, not a cat and mouse anymore, but the one where the participants had to overlook one another. The one who breaks eye contacts first loses. With the only exception that Dean had to eyes to look into, if only those of the horse. And still, he didn't feel like moving or looking away, his mind strangely blank, as though hypnotized by the reddish glow. Distractedly, he wondered whether this color – so unnatural and surreal – was an indication of blood thirst. Or maybe he could see hellfire.

Hellfire. Yeah, soon he'd find out how it would feel to be in the middle of it…

Dean jerked back at the thought fighting the panic that started to rise inside of him and feeling a strong urge to be anywhere but this damned place. He needed to start running again, needed more than anything to shake off this odd indifference and…

A glint of a sword that whistled through the air brought Dean back to reality on an instant as soon as his mind registered the danger. The sword that was supposed to cut his head off, to end his whole life, everything he ever did, everything he was, and leave only emptiness behind.

"Look, dude, you of all people… um, ghosts, wouldn't like to know what I have in my mind right at the moment, and believe me, if you try my head on, I swear my curse will be your curse. Not that I really mind passing it down, but I prefer to do it staying in one piece."

_Damn it, Winchester, it isn't the worst situation you'd ever been in, so why wouldn't you just wiggle out of it like you did before?_ But it was different now. The deal was pressing in on him, making him weaker, less determined, less willing to keep fighting, physically or emotionally. He only wished it was over at last, one way or another.

But his body reacted faster than that, and when the Horseman aimed its sword at Dean once again, he raised his right hand up instinctively to protect his head, forced out of his trans when white-hot pain struck his arm as the blade sliced it effortlessly cutting through the layers of his clothes.

"Son of a bitch!" Dean cursed feeling warm sticky blood streaming through the cut, soaking the sleeve of his shirt and the jacket. He looked down at the long wound and then up at his attacker who was drawing the deadly weapon up again for the new strike as the horse stepped forward.

Even knowing the effortlessness of his attempt, Dean cocked the gun up and pulled the trigger. The effect was the same – meaning, no effect at all – but before the smoke caused by the shot faded away, Dean was running again, weak like never before but grateful for these precious minutes of rest all the same.

Think, Dean! Think! You know the damned story, been reading it over and over again as a kid. You know that an answer is somewhere there perhaps. A hint. A clue. Why else would the legends exist in the first place?

The horse was approaching quickly, and Dean's tricks were not working anymore. Either he stopped being unpredictable, too drained by this moment, or the damned thing was learning too fast. Not that he wanted this hunt to become his last one but…

His ears caught some sounds that Dean knew wasn't there moments ago. At first he thought that the rain started again – the fact of the sky being cloudless and the moon still where he last saw her somehow left his mind – until he realized that he was running along the river. Meaning, no turning right unless he wanted…

Oh, God! Of course! The river! The ghosts couldn't cross the running water, that's why when being followed by the Headless Horseman, the victims were running to the bridge which was their only chance to be saved. Dean had no idea if it was true, or if it was just a legend, and if it was going to work after he failed to take the thing down with the rock salt, but right at the moment he had no other ideas. So, he turned to the right feeling momentarily that it became easier to run now that he was running down towards the bank.

Dean couldn't see the river in the fog rising from the water and crawling along the ground. Not even the moonlight reflecting in the surface. Yet, he was led by the sound of, not quite sure if it was coming closer with his approach, what with the fog making everything muffled. He was relieved to find out that his follower slowed down a little, probably out of fear to run too fast down the slope but he was still right at Dean's heels and unless the river appeared soon…

It appeared sooner than Dean expected, practically out of nowhere. He didn't even register what exactly had happened when the ground suddenly went from under his feet and the next moment he was flying head-forward somewhere into the darkness until his hand that he reached out on instinct to cushion his fall hit freezing cold water. Sharp pain shot through his injured arm. Still breathing hard after long and exhausting run, Dean gasped and the very next moment he had tow lungs full of cold water.

It took him a couple of moments to understand where the bottom and surface were before he started pushing himself up working mainly with his legs, one of his arms wasn't quite functional and another one was still holding the shotgun in tight grip.

Everything around was black when he came out, coughing and spitting, his lungs burning twice nastier now that he added one more feeling of discomfort to his list. He couldn't see the bank at first – couldn't even understand from which side of the river he got into the river, more like it. Another wave of panic rolled on him burying him under a million of horrible prospects as he realized that by picking the wrong direction he might come right back to the thing that he was so eager to avoid. The damned fight was worth winning, for Christ's sake! He hadn't nearly got half of his arm cut off for nothing! But he was too tired, and the current was too strong, and the water was so cold that he could barely feel his fingers and toes. Dean knew that if he didn't get out soon, he'd send all his attempts to survive right to hell by stupid drowning.

And that was exactly when he saw him, the Headless Horseman. Well, seeing him was rather problematic at night but the dance of the moonlight on the mirror-like blade of the sword was impossible to miss.

Dean jerked back almost sure for one very long moment that the ghost was going to follow him into the water. But it didn't, and when the thought finally occurred to Dean, he started making his way towards the opposite bank as quickly as possible getting splashes of water into the face every now and then, fighting with the current and small whirlpools and trying to keep up whatever was left of his ability to breathe.

He nearly groaned with relief when his feet grazed against the bottom of the river and his progress became more efficient. In the end Dean nearly crouched onto the bank, his fingers grasping at the grass and low bushes until he finally fell awkwardly, rolled onto his back and closed his eyes gulping the air but never getting enough. His heart was thumping crazily and his brain was definitely not getting enough oxygen to think straight but somewhere in the back of his mind Dean knew that he escaped this time. Cheated on Death once again, or so he assumed since the whole ten seconds had passed and he was still alive and in one piece.

He was wet and cold – what the hell was wrong with this forest if he always ended up like this every time he dared to come here?! – and he had absolutely no idea where he was or how to get back to town but he could hardly remember the last time he felt so good. Alive.

It was close this time, a bit too close maybe.

For a very long time Dean stayed motionless listening to his own breath and making sure he had no major injures, but then the rush of the wind sent shivers down his entire body reminding him that it was a very good idea to try and figure out how to get back to the Impala before his blood froze in his veins. Son of a bitch wasn't going to steal any of his priceless days. That Dean wasn't going to let happen.

Moaning – and who was there to judge anyway? – he propped himself on the elbow of his more or less unharmed arm and looked around, confused. Okay, where was his car now? He had absolutely no clue how far he got into the forest, and in what direction he was moving anyway. Natural sense of navigation, huh? Well, he only knew that under any circumstances he should not cross the river again. The rest? He decided he'd figure out the rest along the way… as soon as he got to his feet or something.

Dean shook his head causing a fountain of water drops from his hair and realized that he was still holding his shotgun tight. He chuckled. Who would have thought it was such a lousy weapon against some… things?

"Dean!"

The voice gave him a start and made him snap his head up. everything inside of him twisted into a tight knot. Wait a sec! How could…? What was she doing there? And so close, too. Right behind… Was it another trick or…?

Clumsily, Dean hoisted himself up on his feet feeling the earth swaying slightly beneath his feet, his legs trembling a bit. Yet, it was by any means a lot less embarrassing then lying on the ground when Bela suddenly appeared from behind the trees, looking rather frantic and with the flashlight clutched in her hand.

"Jeez, this place is way too crowded at this time of the day," Dean chuckled and then coughed. Yep, there definitely was too much water in his lungs for comfort.

"Dean?"

"Hey," his voice was hoarse and he wished he could wave at her, or at least say something other than _Hey_, only it turned out that it would take too much effort. _What a nice surprise!_

Bela stopped in her tracks several steps away from him and blinked in surprise as if she wasn't really sure that her eyes weren't deceiving her. And then, "Are you crazy or what?!" She bellowed stomping in his direction, and Dean suspected that the general idea was to deafen him or something. Wouldn't put it past her. "What are you doing here?"

_Honestly__? _

"Go and yell at someone else," Dean grumbled wincing, his teeth chattering.

"Jesus, what happened?" She was at his side before he noticed and slipped one arm supportively around his waist when he tripped in the dark, anger in her voice now mixed with concern. Now that was embarrassing! "You okay? Why… why are you so wet?"

"See, I have this thing for the late night swimming, sweetheart." Dean gave her the best impression of a grin, given his condition.

"Are you serious?" She blinked, confused.

He swallowed when it occurred to him that she was a bit closer than he expected.

"Never mind."

She opened her mouth to comment on it one way or another, but then something else caught her attention. "Oh, my God, Dean, is this…" Bela looked into his face. "Is this blood?"

They both looked down at his arm. She – to have another confirmation of what she already knew for sure. He – to get what the hell she was talking about. Good thing about being cold was that he stopped feeling pain as well.

"Shit! It was my favorite jacket. Can you believe it?" Dean shook his head.

Bela huffed. It was irritating to see him half-turned into a popsicle and yet so put down by the ill fate of his clothes instead of taking seriously his own state. Unbelievable! So very Dean! Not that she knew him well enough to judge, Bela reminded herself with slight regret. But that was exactly what she expected of him speaking from past experience.

"Oh, really?"

Dean snorted at the sarcasm in her voice. "Material valuables, Bela. You must be familiar with the concept."

"Did you hit your head as well?" She asked with a frown. He couldn't see it, what with the lack of light, but the picture was pretty clear in his mind. Her voice was implying enough.

Perhaps she was right, about his head, too. Why else would he be so glad to see her? And how did she get here again?

"Ha-ha," he said flatly when nothing better came to his mind.

"Come on, fish boy." Bela paused to look around anxiously one last time before pulling Dean with her. "We don't want to stay here longer than necessary, do we?"

***

"Okay, I get it, you have a serious problem with the hero complex, Dean. But you have to fight it or something." Bela chuckled shaking her head. "Don't move!"

They were sitting in the front seats of her rented car parked some twenty feet from the Impala. Lights on and first aid kit in her lap, Bela was doing her best with dealing with the consequences of Dean's little field trip.

When she demanded his medical supplies some ten minutes earlier, he complied without a word of objection. And now he was sitting with his lips pursed and his teeth clenched tight, listening to her rambling on how stupid he was, or not really listening as it all sounded like an annoying buzz to him, and feeling an overwhelming urge to flee since Bela wasn't exactly Florence Nightingale in his eyes. Not even Dr. Grey, speaking of that, among all other things. Be damned Sam and this stupid show on cable. And he was too tired to even try and protest.

Apparently, it was his luckiest day after all. Not only he survived his encounter with deadly spirit (shaken but not defeated, huh?), it also turned out that he made a circle and ended up only half a mile away from where he had left the car. At least it explained how Bela had found him, although it didn't happen _before_ he made a crack on her having radar for him, which she didn't dignify with any kind of response.

"Are you going to tell me what happened?" She inquired.

"Um, I met the Headless Horseman."

"Thank you, Dean! I kind of got that already." She darted a pointed look at his arm before fixing her eyes on his once again. "You're such an idiot!" She breathed out reaching for the bandage.

"Gee, thanks!" He scoffed suppressing the convulsive shivers.

It was humiliating enough to let her help him – let alone help him _get undressed_ so that she could take care of his wound – to stand her never-ending _I-told-you-so_'s, too.

His leather jacket – completely ruined now that one of the sleeves was only elbow-long – was lying in the back seat, and so was his button-down flannel. Both, Dean knew, sort of saved him from having his arm cut off as they took the greater impact of the blade. This left him only in tight black t-shirt, and even with the heater on and working at its best he was still freezing, what with his soaked clothes and "below zero" temperature outside.

Dean stole a quick glance at Bela. She was herself again, composed and calm and like playing a nurse was something that she was doing on daily basis. Or maybe _ER_ was her favorite show, he wasn't sure. She had changed, too – not that he was supposed to notice such things – and her hair looked perfect, falling on her shoulders in gentle waves as though she'd spent a couple of hours in some fancy salon. Not that he cared about anything like that either. Still, Dean wondered absently if she was looking so good only out of wish to make him feel even more uncomfortable than he generally was when he was around someone with real money. Around her in particular.

"Ouch!" Dean winced and jerked his arm snapping out of his thoughts when whatever she was doing set his skin on fire.

Bela caught him by the wrist and gave him a glare. "Don't. Move."

"Why don't you find yourself another hobby?" He hissed offended by her implication was he wasn't able to take care of himself but then just trailed off on mental wave of hand. It was a rhetoric question anyway.

She surprised him by answering, "Well, I have to set the score."

"Whatever." He muttered. "What are you doing here, Bela?"

"Except for wasting my time, you mean?"

"Except for that," he made a face.

"Well, obviously, I have a sick idea of fun."

_Huh?_ "What?"

She hemmed shaking her head. "Sam called. Said he couldn't reach you…"

"What?! Bloody hell!"

Dean wiggled out of her grip and reached into the backseat for his jacket.

"Dean!"

He ignored her in favor of going through the pockets and muttering curses under his breath until his fingers touched a piece of plastic. Dean pulled his phone out and growled with frustration when his eyes locked on it, broken in two parts and dripping water on his knees.

"Crap."

"Are you done?" Bela snatched the no-longer functional gadget from him and tossed it carelessly back under Dean's displeased look. "What? It's useless anyway. Can I finish now?" She grabbed his arm again. "So, Sam called… And just for the record, I'm sick and tired of you guys using me for communication. But anyway, your brother needed you for something. He didn't tell me what it was, or maybe he was just missing you badly, but you would never pick up your phone. And I know that you two have this slight issue with keeping in touch 24/7…"

"Are you going to cut to the point any time this week?" Dean asked in pointedly calm voice.

"That's what I'm doing. Sam thought that maybe you had a dead battery or something. Whatever. And, as foolish as it may sound, he supposed that you could be somewhere around me." And she rolled her eyes as if was the craziest thing to think about. Well, now at least she knew what Sam meant when he mentioned extreme risks.

"Yeah, what a ridiculous supposition. And?"

"And… you weren't at the hospital, obviously, because I was there when Sam called." She continued in that smooth voice that she knew was setting Dean's teeth on edge. "And there was no way you'd go to Mark's father to claim the reward with that _I work for free only_ written on your face." And it probably was a miracle that the glare that Dean gave her didn't know her out. "You weren't at the motel either because it was the first place I checked. Optimistically, I supposed that you wouldn't hit the nearest strip-bar now that the case is not over yet. Assuming all of that, it wasn't hard to guess what was the best place to look for you."

Dean blinked but regained his cool quickly. "Wow! Impressive, Sherlock!"

"Some of us can think, see. Unlike the others." And she arched her brows meaningfully at him but Dean failed to figure if the insult referred to his miserable loss against the Headless Horseman or to her opinion about his mental abilities in general.

"Yeah, you kinda made that pretty clear already." Dean nodded with a smile trying to stay focused, his mind a bit fuzzy. "So, back to what are _you_ doing here…" He gave her a suspicious look. "I mean your part is done. You found the boy… Well, we found the boy but that's details. Honestly, I'm surprised not to see you packing, which causes logical question…" His eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"Call it curiosity!" Bela said brightly. "And charity. Haven't been much into it lately."

"Huh? What does any of that have to do with charity?"

"Working for free is charity," she explained with mock patience, shut the lid of the first aid kit and passed it over to Dean.

"Cute!" Bela and delicacy. The woman had a unique ability to say with the most charming smile and in the sweetest voice the words that would make one wish to go and take a shower. "You know, I feel so much better now, looking back at all the years..." he trailed off.

"To make it even better you should start wearing tights and call yourself Dean 'Robin Hood' Winchester," she offered willingly.

"I'll think about it." He promised.

Bela hemmed trying to imagine the picture in her mind, then buckled her seatbelt and started the engine.

Sam and Dean jumping from tree to tree with bows and arrows, Impala long forgotten in favor of horses. It was impossible to imagine them stealing from the rich to give to the poor though but the whole nature of their hobby was not that far from something like that, so…

"Hey, what… What are you doing?" Dean anything but jumped on his seat when he finally registered that the car was moving and whirled around to look at the Impala that was getting smaller with each passing moment in the back window. Then turned to scowl at Bela.

"Relax, Dean. Nothing's going to happen to your precious car. The guy over there has his transport already."

"Turn around." He ordered in low growl.

"You're in no condition to drive." She gave him a pitiful look voicing the obvious.

And she was right, damn her but still… "Bela…"

She rolled her eyes. "We'll pick your car first thing in the morning, okay? Now fasten your seatbelt."

"Bite me." Dean made a face at her and turned away to look out his window. Ignored her words about the seatbelt completely, stubborn in his wish _not_ to do whatever she could possibly ask.

She was right after all – although he would never say anything like that to her, even if she had a gun pointed at his head – and deep inside it was a relief to know that he didn't have to think about anything else at the moment. Not that he could anyway. Now that he got warmer, his arm began to throb dully and Dean's thoughts reeled to his duffel bag and a whole bottle of Ibuprofen pills but he just didn't feel like moving to get it. He stifled a yawn. The level of adrenaline in his blood, the only reason why he was still alive perhaps, started to drop and suddenly Dean felt endlessly tired and completely drained. Numb.

Strange how often he was feeling like that lately. So indifferent. He was tired of always thinking about the others. Tired of Sam's angst and Bobby's silent mourning. Tired of so many things that he couldn't see his life without before… because he knew that he was dying. It sort of gave everything he did some odd finality. Whatever. For now he was all too willing to let Bela call the shots. For a while. He didn't even really care where she was taking him.

"So?" Bela's voice reminded Dean of where he was and of how he got there in the first place.

He rubbed tiredly at his eyes knowing exactly what she was waiting for. And sending her right to hell was tempting, he had to admit.

"Sam's got a theory, on the pattern of murders," Dean said instead, and snorted as if the very idea of Sam having a theory on anything was utterly impossible.

"O-okay. And?"

He sighed. "See, all victims were men, 25 to 35 years old. That's why you and Mark got out alive. Mark was too young." Dean paused to give her a long once-over. "And whatever you are, sweetheart, at least we found out that you're most likely not male."

"Charming!" Bela wished she didn't have to hold on to the steering wheel so that she could fold her arms on her chest. Yet, she gave Dean her best smile, all teeth, and batter eyelashes at him for good measure. "So, you two morons jumped to conclusions without having any proof, and you, all prince in shining armor in the flesh, rushed ahead into battle swinging your sword above your head." Bela shook her head on a smirk. "Oh, sorry, I forgot that the horseman in the story is not you."

Dean's scowl deepened. He hated it when she was like this, all so right. And he hated even more when he had nothing to say. So, he just grimaced at her.

"I don't remember you having any bright ideas," he pointed out.

"See the difference between _bright_ and _sane_." She snorted, and then sighed. "Okay, let's assume for a minute that your genius brother was right…"

"Apparently, he was."

Bela's eyes darted towards his fresh bandage. "Yeah, well..." She pulled the car to a stop at the motel parking lot and cut the engine. "At least I'm not _crazy_ anymore, yeah?" She added more to herself than to him climbing out after Dean.

He dove into the back seat for a moment to get his stuff and then walked to his room without so much as thank you, or even a look back. Bela failed to figure if it meant that she was supposed to follow without any specific invitation or that he didn't really care. Dean Winchester and manners weren't exactly best friends. She debated getting back into the car and winding off. She was not less tired after all, and the thought of hot bath and soft bed that were waiting for her in her own hotel – actual hotel and not a dump of a place that charged by the hour – almost made her moan in anticipation. But then she sighed, locked the car and went after Dean. He's been through quite a lot, and the least she could do – after all she'd done already, Bela reminded herself on mental snort – was to make sure he actually was okay. In the best way possible.

She caught up with him a moment before he had a chance to slam the door in her face.

"What?" Dean frowned when he saw her on the doorstep, surprised and not really happy in Bela's opinion. "I'm in no condition and not really resourceful for anything daredevelish in the nearest future, so consider yourself free for tonight."

Bela ignored his not so subtle hint to get out and walked past him into the room.

Dean sighed and closed the door behind her. Should have invited her instead, he thought if a little belatedly. Trust her to refuse to come anywhere near him in that case.

Surreptitiously, he gave her a studying look. Now, with the lights on, he registered dark circles beneath her eyes; recalled that the previous night – and wasn't really the _previous_ night??? Felt longer! – was the hell for both of them… and scowled at himself for giving a shit.

She stopped in the middle of the room, arms folded on her chest, and regarded him appraisingly from head to toe.

"Just bate my curiosity, Dean. What exactly were you thinking when you went there all alone?"

"Rock salt was supposed to work, for starters."

"But it didn't."

He was so not in a mood to keep up the fight.

"Why are you even still here, Bela? If you came to lecture me, screw you. I don't give a crap about what you're thinking." He waved his hand dismissively at her and winced at how his words sounded, a bit self-conscious by the second and doing his best in trying to think straight. He could be an ass sometimes, but never an ungrateful ass. And he was grateful after all…

Call Sam. He needed to call Sam and tell him he was alive before his brother went farther than contacting Bela. That fact itself already showed that he was at the verge of panic. God knows what might come to that brainic head of his next. And why it always was like this with the cell phones? Why would they always break/die/drown, or all of that together, when you needed them most? That was beyond Dean. The other thing beyond him was why would he think about any of that. Oh, right, he needed to call Sam. So, the phone…

"You look terrible," Bela told him, as though it was something he didn't know already, her voice a bit softer than she intended it to be. _You should have some rest_, she wanted to say instead but couldn't quite bring herself to voice something like that. "Don't you think it was a bit extreme?"

"Oh, I don't know. Felt pretty refreshing, won't you say?"

She hemmed. "Yeah, well, I see. Dark night. Cold water."

"Careful, Bela, or I will get an impression that you actually care."

_What if I do__?_ "Don't flatter yourself! Why would I?"

"Why are we talking about any of that anyway? You know where the door is." Dean waved his hand at her, then walked up to the dresser and pulled open one of the drawers to find dry clothes. Um, the phone. There was one on the night stand…

"Fine. Not that your well-being is any of my business."

She turned on her heels when Dean didn't grace her with so much as goodbye, all too busy to acknowledge her leaving obviously, a little too hurt than she was willing to admit.

Cautiously, Dean looked over his shoulder to make sure she was actually leaving surprised by how quickly they got over sending quippy comments at one another part, relieved, confused and inexpertly disappointed by the outcome.

He couldn't stay for long around Sam because his concerned looks and guilt and _My brother is dying because of me_ written all over his face were steadily making Dean wish to punch his little bro. As if he forced Dean to sell his soul. As if Dean regretted even for one short moment that he did it. But this way he at least knew that Sam was okay. Well, knowing that Sam was with Bobby sort of worked that way, too. They both needed a break.

As for Bela, she annoyed hell out of him simply by existing but now that she was making her way out of his room, it reminded him that in a couple of seconds he would be left all alone with his thoughts and fears and nightmares that sometimes kept him wide awake till dawn, eyes open and peering sightlessly at the ceiling. So not something he was looking forward to. If only because of that he didn't quite want her to leave feeling with growing panic the demons crawling into his mind. Not that he'd ever admit it to anyone but himself…

Still, a t-shirt and sweatpants in hand, Dean slammed the drawer shut and followed Bela to the door to close it properly behind her, both locks and a chain, paranoid over safety that he was. With the prospect of a very long night ahead he wished he would just black out after everything that had happened, sink into deep dreamless abyss.

Bela turned all of a sudden on, "Oh, and do me a favor…" when her hand was already lying on the door knob, and trailed off when she found herself standing face to face, literary speaking with Dean (When did he get so close? And… what was she going to say again?) who hardly heard her as he was talking too.

"Bela…" not quite sure what exactly he was going to say. Maybe even nothing at all. Maybe he would just fall silent and look like a dork.

She looked up, a little too concerned to notice deep lines around his eyes and absolutely world-weary expression now that she could see past fake bravado and witty wisecracks. Right at the moment Dean Winchester looked like he had the weight of the entire world on his shoulders. And okay, she knew that he was good at what he was doing, and furthermore, she had no reasons no doubt the fact that he was a good man but that was just a bit too much, the latest events assumed.

Dean swallowed fighting to find strength to take a step back, let her go and shut the door, both physically and emotionally.

"What?" They asked at the same time.

She – automatically. He – out of wish to keep himself focused on something other than her lips more than anything else, his voice low and hoarse.

"Don't sneak out the window." Bela's voice dropped to a whisper by the time she ended the phrase, not as sarcastic as it was meant to be.

He felt her breath on his lips and somewhere in the back of his mind Dean knew that he was probably having fever, or so he wished to believe. _Say something, you dork! Something that would make her slam and door in your face and run away fuming and angry. Get back to a familiar territory before it's too late. Damn it, you have no right…_

"Don't go."

The words surprised him as much as they surprised her. And Dean only realized that he said them out loud when Bela raised her hand and put it on his chest where his heart was beating under her palm; her eyes never looking away from his. The urge to run away grew stronger. To escape. He was walking on thin ice, or a minefield, knowing that each step could be fatal. She didn't know what she was doing. What she was getting herself into. But that was how it usually worked with danger – it was addictive. And Dean was so grateful for the rare chance to blame what was happening on his exhaustion, and inability to think straight, and utter lack of wish to keep denying the obvious. He didn't want to deny anything anymore.

**To be continued… **

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Thanks for reading! Please, tell me what you think :) Comments are always appreciated!


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's note:** Yep, it's me :) And an update. My life is a real mess, so I can't keep the updates coming as fast as I'd love to. Thanks for being patient, I really appreciate it.

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**Chapter 5**

There was one thing that bothered Dean a lot – well, aside from his aching arm that was practically making him wish to start climbing walls. Why the bloody EMF-meter didn't work? Not that it was a sure thing. There were no sure things in their line of work but Dean couldn't get off the feeling that there was something more to it than just unregistered field. And it annoyed him like hell that he couldn't understand what it was, exactly. Yes, there was this one time that the EMF of an angry spirit was so strong that it simply killed his equipment once but it was rather an exception than a rule.

"… _since, like you said, seldom people survived_." Bobby voice finally reached him.

"Yeah, I know. Thanks anyway," Dean cringed fighting a wish to kick something in frustration. "Ouch!"

Bela who was sitting at the table beside him and working on his arm, gave him a reprimanding look, mouthed soundlessly "Don't move!" and shook her head. Her fingers were steady and sure as she uncovered his wound carefully to examine it and then reached into the open first aid kit for a bottle of antiseptic ointment and fresh bandages. Dean watched her manipulations with a mixture of distrust and panic hoping that she knew what she was doing and wishing she'd be doing it to someone else.

"_What?_" Here Bobby probably frowned a little.

"Nothing," Dean breathed out into the receiver and returned her a glare. "I just…" _got into a very screwed situation_. "Noting at all. You find something, give me a call, okay?"

"_Yeah. You be careful there, Dean_," Bobby added in another voice, the one that Sam used a lot lately. Like his brother was a five-year old playing in the cage with the lions.

"It's a pony here and…"

"_Dean_."

"I will," Dean promised automatically. "You too, Bobby. Bye."

So, Bobby didn't know a thing either, which was shocking because as far as Dean was concerned, Bobby knew everything. Even the things that other, more experienced hunters had no idea about. Even the things John Winchester didn't know, and John knew a lot. And now, with so many other hunters killed – or not wishing to have anything to do with the Winchesters – Dean didn't know where else to turn, and his time was seriously fucked up, too. Now wasn't it just terrific?

He hung up and put the phone away. Bela's phone, which she failed not to notice.

"I'll send you the bill," she told him when she saw it. Why he didn't like using regular phone for his research was beyond her, really. Like, well, many other things. Dean scoffed, obviously not taking her words seriously, and she made a mental note not to forget to actually do it, just for fun. See how he would react.

"It fucking hurts!" He complained, and it was definitely a whine.

"Don't be such a baby," she rolled her eyes. "It can't be that bad." _You only have a terrible long and deep gash that bleeds badly. Why would it hurt?_

"Come again?"

Bela sighed, "Listen, I really don't like how this looks. You should…"

"Wait till it heals," Dean cut her off firmly. "I'm like a cat, I have nine lives…" _with a very short expiry date._ He grinned proudly missing out the last part, and then, "Jesus, Bela!" catching his breath and turning paler by the second when she did something that set his whole arm on fire.

"Hold it, okay?" She didn't let him jerk his arm away, doing her best to pin him to his seat with her eyes.

"For God's sake…"

"You're not going to cry, are you?" Bela asked with mock concern batting her eyelashes innocently at him, then bent a little closer before his glare actually burned a hole in her scull, looped her hair around her ear and blew on the cut hoping it would sooth the pain. Looked up at him when he stopped struggling. "Better?"

Dean swallowed in vain attempt to make his throat less dry, feeling her hair tickling his wrist, and now that she was so close he could also smell her shampoo, which also wasn't making his concentration better. "Much." What they were talking about again? And when did his mind get so blank?

"It'll take a while till this thing kicks in," she said softly. "Sorry."

"S'okay."

There was this one time when he was shot in a shoulder and spent good five hours with a bullet stuck in his muscle before he got to Sam who removed it, and with no painkillers too, a bottle of rather cheap whiskey aside. After that Dean knew he could live through pretty much anything.

"I still think…"

"Bobby's got nothing," He interrupted standing up before she got down that lane again. He was not going anywhere! God, he probably broke more bones in his life than most people knew they had, and if he was running to the hospital every time he had a scratch, he'd go crazy a long time ago. Not to mention how pathetic it would look.

Bela didn't let herself be sidetracked though. "I'm trying to help you, you moron."

"Calling me a moron doesn't do much help."

"Stop being one and see the difference." But before Dean could come up with a decent response Bela's cell phone let out a string of chirping sounds and she hurried to grab it surprised when she saw the name on the caller ID. Someone actually wanted to talk to _her_. Shocking! "Duty calls," she signsonged under her breath before picking up. "Mr. Johnson?" A smile on her face so wide and sincere that hadn't Dean known any better, he'd thought this call was better than Porsche for Christmas.

"Whatever," he huffed and headed for the bathroom leaving her alone to deal with her dirty little business.

Strange how deceiving first impression could be. Or the second. Or the tenth speaking of that. Bela smiled to herself at the sound of Dean humming some tune – totally off-key – in the bathroom now that no one could see her anyway. She finished the conversation, then reached for the coffee pot and poured herself a mug of hot, steaming liquid. Okay, the motel might be crappy and cheap, and honestly, she didn't want to even start thinking about where the linen and comforters came from, but the coffee was the reason she could put up with everything else. Well, coffee _and_ Dean.

"What's the big plan now?" She called out.

"Salt and burn," Dean poked his head out of bathroom, hair rumpled, a towel around his neck and a toothbrush in his mouth, and probably because of said toothbrush his words came out as muffled, "Sot'n'earn."

Bela blinked taking her time to decipher his secret code. Dean rolled his eyes and disappeared out of her view to come out again moments later, without a toothbrush this time, and whipping his mouth with the towel.

"I said…"

"I got it, Dean, really," she assured him.

"Oh," he paused. "Okay, good." Cleared his throat. "Anyway, about the victims. According to the legend… um, legends, the Headless Horseman is a young soldier killed during the Independence War..." Dean stopped and narrowed his eyes when he caught Bela arching her brows at him. "What?" He asked suspiciously. "You never read the story?"

No, actually it was the fact that Dean Winchester knew something about the Independence War. Wow! That alone was enough to make Bela speechless. He might have as well started discussing quantum physics with her and it wouldn't surprise her more, really. In her mind Bela always saw Dean sitting in the very back of the classroom with a comic book in his lap during the history class in high school. Unlike Sam, most likely. She always thought of a younger Winchester as a nerdy bookworm, more or less. Yet, the Headless Horseman hardly was something mentioned but the teachers and the Winchesters were probably taught to be thorough with _their_ homework. But still…

Mental image made Bela wish to giggle all the same.

"No, no, go on," she said hurriedly lest he notice something, and covered her growing smile by taking another sip of coffee.

Dean regarded her, not really convinced perhaps, but didn't push the subject although Bela could have sworn that the prospect seemed rather tempting.

"So, the soldier that was beheaded, and now his ghost is looking for a new head, and not any head but a matching one too, see. That's why he never touched old men, or kids. Or chicks." And he looked pointedly at her as he walked across the room.

"Lucky me!" And then, "Are you saying that all these murders are about finding the right head?" Bela whipped her head around to look at Dean who picked up his duffel bag from the floor, tossed it onto one of the beds and started rummaging through it with a very serious expression looking for something or another.

"Yep!" He gave her a cheeky smile. "Still, it doesn't…"

A loud knock on the door cut him off. Dean snapped his head up.

"Pizza, I hope?" He peered at the door as if trying to see through it, and then at Bela, brows shot up questioningly, obviously waiting for confirmation or at the very least explanation.

"Someone looking for a stolen morning news-paper?" She supposed helpfully.

"Funny."

Dean grimaced at her and moved to the door trying to recall if he had any reasons to worry about uninvited visitors. No, he was sure that the credit card he used to pay for the room, the one that had the name Jeff Hunniggan on it, was clear and the only person who could actually cause him serious problems – especially now that Gordon was dead and agent Henriksen was a couple states away, Sam was keeping an eyes on him just in case – was with him in that very room starting the previous night. Pulling the gun out seemed like a good idea. Call it an instinct. Still, if it was a room service – although Dean couldn't remember having any kind of room service in the motels of this range in all his twenty years of experience – it could seriously backfire. If he spooked some maid, she could report it and…

Out of the corner of his eye he saw that Bela set her mug onto the table and followed him, keeping some distance, also tense all at once as though his anxiety passed to her like a virus. Strange, but having her for a back-up was somewhat comforting.

Dean hesitated for a moment but then swung the door open, ready for almost anything that could be waiting on the other side… and startled, surprised, when he saw no one. Well, not until he shifted his gaze down. There was a boy in black cloak with high collar and very naturally looking blooded Dracula fangs in his mouth. Carrying an orange basket in his hand, he looked very much like any Halloween-loving kid.

"Trick or treat?" The boy asked in his probably the most terrifying voice, and added after a short hesitation, "Sir?" as though he seriously expected that politeness could guarantee him extra cookie.

Bela craned her neck to look over Dean's shoulder, curious.

Dean let out his breath he didn't even notice he was holding and chuckled, feeling that the tight knot in his stomach loosed by the second. It was embarrassing to be so spooked to a heart-attack by a ten-year old.

"Sorry, buddy, but only if you give me something with pepperoni in return."

The smile on the boy's face faded and he heaved a sigh before turning to make it to the next door.

"Hey, all that stuff's bad for teeth," Dean called out after him as if it was any consolation, and then closed the door shaking his head. "Nice costume though," he added locking his eyes on Bela's. "Doesn't mean I like the idea."

"You're cruel," she scoffed.

"So, where were we?"

"The head," Bela reminded him, her voice all business. "Don't you think he could have already picked something over the years?"

Dean rubbed at his forehead thoughtfully before speaking again. "See, the whole thing is not about finding _any_ head that is good enough. He wants to find _his_ head, which is…"

"Impossible," she finished for him.

"Yeah, something like that."

"Cute." Bela hemmed, then looked around the room remembering something if a little belatedly. "Dean, have you seen my… Oh, here they are." Went past him to pick her earrings up from the nightstand. "Vicious circle, yeah? This chase for the head I mean."

Dean came up to her from behind, so quiet she didn't even notice, wrapped his arms around her waist and buried his face in her hair.

"Hey, it tickles," Bela giggled when he pressed his lips to a tender spot in the curve of her neck.

He grumbled something incomprehensible in response, his breath falling on her skin making it tingle. Smiling, she turned around to look at him, and paused for a moment taken by surprise by the softness of his features and struck by the sudden sense of alarm.

Dean was looking down at her with a mixture of wonder and confusion, which Bela failed to interpret. It left her with an odd feeling that he was making his way somewhere but got lost along the way and came to another place in the end, and all of a sudden that another place turned out to be the right one, only he had no idea what to do with it now.

So, when did she lose control of the situation, exactly? Seemed like it was taking control over her.

But as soon as she got there, Bela blocked her mind and decided she'd figure out how to live with the consequences of what was going on between them later.

"You know, you're still obsessed serial killer," she informed him in the best serious voice possible.

"So?" Dean's lips curved into a small smile. Absently, he reached out to tuck a strand of loose hair behind her ear. "And you're still immoral bitch. Does it make any difference?"

Bela laughed softly. "Not really," as his lips brushed lightly against hers. Her fingers ran along the rough surface of Dean's bandage, "Does it really hurt that bad?"

"Like a bitch," he admitted unwillingly, making a face, "but anything's better than if it was cut off."

"Good."

She turned around to swing her arms around his neck and kiss him properly, felt his smile with her lips as she ran her fingers through his hair, and God help her, but she was actually happy that he was holding her tight when her knees were so close to betraying her. Awkward. It was the butterflies perhaps. Stupid butterflies fluttering in her stomach and taking too much out of her. For a moment a thought that started to form somewhere in the back of her mind turned everything inside of her cold. But before Bela had time to catch it, her cell phone started to ring making her groan in disappointment.

Dean made a noise of protest tightening his grip on her.

"Gotta get that," she sighed pulling back rather unwillingly and trying to collect her thoughts back together – not that it was an easy task; let him kiss her one last time. It could be a client… Speaking from experience, she knew they always picked the worst time for calling. She came up to the dresser cursing the small thing vibrating on top of it and whoever was on the other end of the call, looked at the screen… and hemmed. Interesting! "It's Sam," Bela tossed the phone to Dean who caught it automatically; confused expression on his face. "Seriously, Dean, get yourself your own phone, yeah?"

With that she grabbed her bag with toiletries and marched to the bathroom, huffing to herself.

"Sam?" She heard coming from the room. "What?... No, not really." A chuckle. "Wha…" A gasp. "I… we… No! Shut up, Sam!" and she absolutely couldn't keep her smile to herself.

Ten minutes later Bela found him sitting at the table with the open phonebook lying before him and a city map sprawled on top of other papers, looking like a man who actually knew what he was doing, or at least almost knew, what with that thoughtful expression and furrowed brows. Still… the map?

"It bothers me that your brother keeps calling _you_ on my mobile. I hope he's not planning to make it a habit." She told biting back a million of questions.

"He did it what, twice?" Dean looked up when she came closer. "Too early to worry." Bela's eyes flickered towards the phonebook, and he explained, "Sam thinks that it could be a spell. The reason why the rock salt didn't work, I mean" And added, "Not that I haven't figured it out myself. But anyways, the guy, whoever he is, was human once. We gotta try to ID him, see if we can find the grave or something. They've got some sort of historical society here. Sounds like a good starting point to me." He waved vaguely at the map.

Apparently, he was checking the address there, Bela figured.

"But, Dean, he could have died in the woods. Maybe his body was never found, meaning no grave. No bones."

He squinted making it clear that the thought had already occurred to him, too. His optimism had its limits after all, and Dean knew that he had to consider possibilities.

"Well, no one said it would be freaking simple." He folded the map back to its portable size. "This bloody stable-man, his pet and whoever brought them here owe me for my jacket. I'm not going to let it go just like that. Swear to God, I'll find out who's standing behind all this crap."

And the _determination_. Maybe a dare even.

"Your personal revenge here, I got it." Bela nodded with mock seriousness. "Otherwise your jacket will never forgive you."

"Laugh. It's my crusade now."

"And you call _my_ methods evil? Jeez!"

"What can I say? The first impression is the strongest, sweetheart." He grinned and wiggled his eyebrows at her. "Oh, there you are." He rummaged through the piles of papers and photo prints and news paper copies and fished John's journal out of all this mess. "Come on," he called Bela. "Let's go. Gotta lots of things to do."

"Which would be…?"

"I wanna talk to that Mark boy again," Dean replied. "Wonder how he ended up in the woods in the first place. Everyone knows it's not safe to go there. And okay, he's just a kid but he didn't look suicidal to me."

Bela nodded following him outside, and caught up with Dean just in time to see him grimace at the sight of her rented car, one of the few in the parking lot. He turned to her then, "But before that, I want to get my car back."

***

Mark was half-sitting on the hospital bed, his back leaning against big white pillow, and watching something that involved screams, blasts and squeals of tires on TV hanging in the corner across from him. He turned his head when Dean rapped his knuckles on the door and squeezed in without waiting for Mark's response.

"Hey, kiddo," he greeted the boy smiling.

"Hey," Mark lowered the sound of the TV.

"Remember me?"

"Yeah, you're the guy who found me. Dean, right?"

"Yep," Dean looked up at the screen. "Nice movie?"

"Something about the end of the world," Mark shrugged. "Like anyone would ever believe that."

Oh, you tell me! Dean smirked to himself strangely happy to know that at least some people were not expecting the end of the world any time soon. It was… well, naïve and a bit too optimistic but still admirable.

Dean dragged one of the chairs across the room and lowered himself onto it. His face lit up at the sight of a pumpkin-shaped basket on the nightstand. A tribute to Halloween, no doubt, and full of delicious stuff, too.

"D'you mind?" He asked Mark nodding towards the basket.

Mark followed his gaze and grinned, "Dig in." he reached out and grabbed a couple of candies, tossed one at Dean and started unwrapping his own.

"So, everyone's gonna die or what?" Dean's gaze shifted to the screen again as he chewed on something jam-filled. Yeah, Halloween sucked out loud but it had some pluses as well, that he couldn't deny.

"Nah," Mark grumbled around his candy shaking his head.

"Seen it already?"

"Nope, but I'd stake my last ten bucks on someone showing up two minutes before the end and saving the day. Otherwise no one would watch it."

Dean chuckled. The boy had a point here. "True." He turned and gave him a long once-over. "So, how are you?"

"Okay, I guess. Hope they'll let me go home tomorrow." Mark lowered his voice. "Hospital food sucks."

"I've heard that before," Dean smirked, toyed with the candy wrap in his fingers and then cleared his throat before finally getting to why he came here in the first place. "Um, Mark… D'you mind if I ask you a couple of questions about what had happened?"

"I already told everything," voice flat and eyes on the screen, he pointedly avoided looking at Dean, or maybe he was just back in the storyline again.

"And… what's the official version?" Dean arched his brows making an emphasis on _official_.

Mark grimaced. "I shoulda watched where I was going." Obviously, that was what the police or whoever talked to him wanted him to believe.

"And what do you think?" In a low, confiding tone, or so Dean hoped.

He remembered Sam using such voice when talking to people who witnessed something they couldn't actually explain and tried to assure themselves that it was nothing but the tricks of their mind or something. Anything, just to believe that they weren't crazy. And like them all, Mark wanted to believe that, too.

"Why are you asking me that?" Mark asked warily, as if suspecting that it could be a trap.

"Because I want to find out what's going on," Dean said simply.

Still, the boy wasn't convinced. "You and your girlfriend, you're not cops, right?" He asked after a short hesitation, eyes narrowed.

Dean blinked. "My girl…?" Oh, Bela. Right. "No, we're not. Call it private investigation." Mark nodded. "Look, I know you might be confused but… you probably heard about the deaths. You know something's wrong out there, no matter what police says, right? I just want to try and stop it before anyone else got hurt."

"Why?"

"Kinda hobby of mine," Dean sneered.

Mark grabbed another candy from the basket. Dean waited patiently as he chewed on it and then swallowed it visibly, eyes glued to yet another fight scene on the screen and a battle written on his face. Obviously, police, or maybe parents as well, did a good job here, and now he didn't know whether he could risk trusting a stranger just like that. Finally, he sighed and turned to Dean when he made a decision.

"You're not going to tell my Dad?"

"Scout's honor!" Dean raised his hand as if he was making a vow. "Now, tell me everything. Like, why did you go there?"

Mark cringed. "It was a bet."

"A bet?"

"Yeah."

"O-okay," Dean drawled. Fished a candy for himself. "Details?"

"There's an old church near the park, about two blocks away from school," Mark started. "My friends and I, we hang out in the graveyard behind it from time to time." He paused. "At night." Another pause. "Our parents don't know."

"Sure thing."

"So, a week ago this new guy came. I never saw him before, he wasn't from our school but it wasn't a big thing. I mean I thought he was someone's friend." Mark shrugged. "We were talking about all these murders, making theories. Such stuff." He took a deep breath. "You know we all grew up here. Heard the stories."

"What stories?"

"Legends." Gaze uncertain and voice cautious, he looked Dean in the face as though trying to read his reaction. And went on when he liked what he saw. "About the ghosts. All sorts of stuff, mysterious deaths, people hearing noises and seeing… _things_." He trailed off and made a face, not quite comfortable with talking about such things seriously, with someone who wasn't teen. "My mate's dad worked with one of the guys who got killed, and it's different you know?" Dean nodded. "And this guy told that it was all a crap and old gossips, that there was nothing in there and that we all were just a bunch of scared kids." Dean's brows shot up. Now that was truly offensive! Had anyone told him anything like that… "Actually, it all made sense, I mean no one could ever prove anything, yeah?"

Dean shrugged, which was neither yes, nor no. "And?" He prompted.

Mark blushed a little and looked out the window first before answering, "And… there was this girl…"

Dean grinned, more to himself than in acknowledgement of Mark's words, hoping the boy wouldn't take as an insult. He should have guessed something like that. When it came to stupid things, involvement of "that girl" was a must. It was like a natural law or something, a rule without exceptions. Personally, Dean wouldn't even try to explain it even if his life depended on it.

"I didn't want to look like a coward, so I told I'd go to the woods, at night. To prove that there was nothing to be scared of."

"Awesome," Dean muttered on a sigh. Seriously, he never understood people who heard creepy noises in the backyard at night and went to check what was going on there instead of locking the doors and closing the windows. What was wrong with them?! "What happened next?"

"We decided we'd go the following night."

Dean, who was more or less busy with studying his own hand for the last couple of minutes, snapped his head up.

"We?"

"Yeah, me and that dude. Is he okay by the way?" Mark frowned. "Haven't heard anything 'bout him."

Dean left the question unanswered. "So, you went there together, and what then?"

"Well, nothing at first. It was pretty cool even. Not really creepy, only dark but we had flashlights. And we even saw a deer." Sure, a deer. From that point of view it was quite entertaining. Dean scoffed to himself as Mark went on, "Then we picked the tree to leave the proof."

"Huh?"

"Um, something to prove that we actually did it. It wasn't necessary, you know. If I went alone it would probably make more sense. But we decided to do it just for fun all the same." Yeah, kids. "He gave me that little bag…"

"W… what?" Dean tensed. "What bag?"

"Dunno. Just a little leather bag. It felt like there several small stones or some rice. I didn't check. Why would I?"

Really, why?

A hex bag. Terrific! Dean's hands balled into fists against his will and he wished he could swear out loud. Damn it! He so didn't like where it was all going. And what he liked even less was that he couldn't get what exactly it was about.

"I came down the tree," Mark continued oblivious to Dean's inner turmoil, "and this guy was gone. And then this thing appeared out or nowhere." He paused. "You know the rest, I guess."

Dean nodded absently. "Thanks, man." Okay, now what? Set a trap and hope for the best? "About this guy… You say you never saw him before?"

"Nope."

"Tell me about him." And added when Mark's blinked in misunderstanding, "I'll try to check if they found him. He could still be lost, too."

"Oh, okay." Mark furrowed his bros thoughtfully. "I dunno, he was just a guy. You see him in the street and you never pay attention. About the same age as me perhaps, but I can't say that for sure. I mean these guys from the football team in my class look like they're in college already." He shrugged.

"You know his name?"

"Mm… no, sorry. He mentioned it but… It was something simple. Jake maybe, or George. Nothing fancy."

"Okay." So, how many "maybe" Jakes or Georges could live in this town? "Anything else? Anything… remarkable?"

Mark looked tired by this point. Stress, exhaustion and starvation were probably taking on him, and Dean knew she should probably leave and let the boy rest instead of making him go through the whole thing again. But the truth was, without Mark's help he didn't know where to start digging.

"His hair looked funny," the boy said at last.

"Funny? Like what?"

"Like… like old-fashioned. Dunno No one's wearing it like this anymore. Not in my school at least. And he also talked like my dad. Like an adult. No slang or groovy words or something but I didn't really care back then; thought it could be in a family. Some folks can be strict about such stuff."

Dean considered his words for a moment, then nodded, got up to his feet and returned the chair to where it first stood. God, he hated hospitals. And even if this ward looked more like a hotel room, with TV and fridge, stuffed with all sorts of yummies, no doubt, it was still a hospital ward. And as much as the boy needed some rest and probably medical treatment, too, Dean wholeheartedly wished him to get out of there as soon as he only could.

"You didn't tell it to anyone else, did you?"

"Kiddin'?" Mark snorted. "I already had a visit from this lady who talked to me about post-traumatic stress and it's consequences in the morning. I'm not going to let them put me through a group therapy for freaks. No way."

"You're not a freak," Dean patted him on the shoulder, then rolled up the sleeve of his shirt and demonstrated Mark the bandage. "Otherwise I'd have o admit that I'm a freak, too."

Mark's eyes widened. "So you…"

"Yep, and I was a little less lucky than you." He decided to leave the age part out lest anyone else decided to check the theory. It was still a theory after all. "Not exactly a highlight of my life, but still," Dean shrugged. "Just… just stay out of there, okay?"

"You can trust me on that."

"Good. Okay then, stay put." A couple more candies made way to Dean's pocket, and then he headed for the door. Stopped in his tracks halfway there, fixed his eyes on the screen and shook his head, "And ask them to give you _Godzilla_ or _Independence Day_. Good ol' classics."

"Hey!" Mark called out when Dean was already opening the door. "That thing over there… what was it?"

Dean paused, torn between giving a quick wise-crack so that the boy could keep believing that the monsters in the closet were not real and telling the bitter truth. The first was tempting. God knew, the truth wasn't what people wanted to know, despite what they normally said, and after all that had happened to Mark so far he probably wouldn't want to know even a fracture of Dean had on his mind. Yet, by the look in his eyes Dean got it that this time the truth was the best option.

"I don't know," he said honestly.

After a short pause Mark nodded. "You think you can do something about it?"

"I'll give it a try."

***

_Sam's __phone call was a big surprise, what with Dean's ability to end up injured every bloody day. "I asked you to keep an eye on him!" His voice was cold and ringing with fury. _

"_Who? Dean?" Bela asked in a pointedly calm voice._

"_No, my hamster!" She could so see him rolling his eyes. "'Course I'm talking about Dean. What the hell is going on out there?"_

"_Stop yelling at me, Sam." She cut him off. "It's not like you two are office clerks. Should have thought about risks when you picked up such job."_

"_Bela…"_

"_What? I offered Dean to be my personal Chihuahua. He refused to sit in the purse. I can't actually put a leash on him!"_

_There was a long pause during which each of them tried to figure the next step and find the right words and whatever. God, Bela was a step away from selling her soul for the answers. What the hell is going on – was exactly what she wanted to know most of all. Dean didn't look like a guy who'd let anyone look after him like this, and Sam was probably the one who knew it better than anyone. And he was still doing it. So, why?_

"_Really, Sam, I'd be able to help better if I knew…"_

"_You already helped," he growled. _

"_We kinda deal with one very angry spirit here," she explained nonchalantly, debated doing her nails. "I got a couple of scratches myself. Happy?"_

"_Ecstatic." Sam scoffed, and then sighed, and the sound was so endlessly tired that Bela swallowed the comment that nearly slipped out of her mouth. It even made her wish to say something soothing, perhaps out of wish to hear something soothing back as Sam's words rose odd worry inside of her. She bit her lower lip, chewed on it counting the seconds._

"_If you can tell me something that could be useful…"_

"_Just stay out of trouble there."_

_And then he hung up._

***

Outside, Dean found Bela in the waiting room. She was sitting in the chair for the visitors, legs crossed and a crossword in her lap.

"Okay, what next? A weapon that can kill a vampire," he heard her muttering to herself as he came closer.

"Silver bullet?"

Bela raised her head, locked her eyes to his and arched her brow. "It's a stake actually."

"Huh? That's for the amateurs," Dean scoffed.

"Well, not everyone is as informed as you are," she pointed out, then put the magazine and a pencil back to the coffee table, stood up and straightened the skirt of her fancy business suite as her eyes traveled around his face trying to read it.

"What are you doing here? I thought you had a tight schedule."

The fact that he actually didn't mind having her around at all, quite on contrary, was what made him unreasonably grumpy.

"I did… I mean I do, but every time I let you out of my sight, you do something utterly idiotic." She smiled brightly at him.

"I can do my job," he hissed in protest, eyes narrowing. "And I can take care of myself." Thanks ever so.

"So I've noticed. Did you find out what you wanted?" She inquired tilting her head.

He rubbed at his eyes. "Not quite," admitted rather unwillingly, grimacing and feeling oddly edgy because of the fact that he had to acknowledge his failure. "Damn it, it feels like the answer is on the surface but every time I come close it just slips away."

A small smile touched Bela's lips. "Am I supposed to understand any of that?"

"What? Oh, yeah. Right." He trailed off, cleared his throat; ran his fingers through his hair and looked around the hall and at people passing by them, none of them merely interested in two strangers blocking the way. "How about going to find something to eat?" He offered with a chuckle. Then there eyes met again and Dean confided in a low voice, "This whole freaking hunk makes me damn hungry."

Bela bit her lower lip to hide her smile and shrugged.

On the way to the elevator Dean filled her in on his conversation with Mark.

"There should be a way to find this guy and ask him about what he knows," he grumbled through his teeth pressing the down button.

He stepped aside and closer to the wall to give space to the nurse with a wheel stretcher. Something about the man lying on it caught his attention and Dean frowned trying to understand why the image made him so uneasy. Well, the very image would probably make anyone uneasy but it was hospital after all, and it wasn't just that. He craned his neck to see as much as he could without actually following the nurse, feeling like it was really important only not able to wrap his mind around it yet.

"What it is?" Bela finally noticed his somewhat uncomfortable position and followed Dean's gaze but all she saw was a piece of light-blue uniform disappearing around the corner. She peered at his face, waiting.

"Nothing, just…" _Just what?_ The doors slid open. "Come on."

"It doesn't make sense, Dean," Bela stepped into the elevator first. "If it was Mark who left the hex bag that I found, then it wasn't what caused the attacks."

"Yeah, Sherlock, I kinda noticed that they started earlier, but what if there are more of them out there?" He so didn't like this thought. "We found only one but it doesn't mean anything. 'Course I don't really mind check each and every tree in the damned forest. Chances are, I will probably be done by the next Halloween." _Which is so not hot since I don't have that much time_. Dean exhaled loudly through his nose, annoyed.

"You can also do some digging. I doubt it would take you more than a couple of months to go through several hundred acres," she added.

Dean gave her a glare but Bela was too busy to appreciate it studying her finely manicured fingernails. He snorted.

The doors dinged open to let them out and into the ground floor.

"Why would a school kid want to summon a spirit anyway?" She asked no one in particular.

"Speaking of school kids… I have a couple of questions to that disappeared dude. Were any kids reported missing lately, by the way?"

"Beside Mark? Not that I remember."

Dean pulled the entrance door open and held it for Bela. Caught her by the hand when she was squeezing past him and never let it go. Didn't need to look at her to know that she smiled when their fingers locked and it made him smile, too. This stupid bittersweet feeling in the pit of his stomach that almost hurt… He shook it off and refused to start thinking about it. For now.

He watched her from the corner of his eye as they walked, pretending to be looking in another direction. Her cheeks turned bright pink and the fierce wind kept through hair in her face but she didn't seem to care less. Her hand was soft and warm in his palm.

"Finally," Dean muttered when they left the hospital a good hundred feet behind. And added in response to Bela's questioning look, "People in white give me creeps, you know," and shuddered dramatically for better effect.

She laughed. "Oh, really? I thought it was that scull-lamp on reception desk."

"No, actually it was a nurse from surgery," Dean said, dead serious. "At first I thought she was wearing a mask, but it somehow turned out…"

"Dean!"

The voice made them both stop dead in their tracks and turn around. At the sight of Sam running to them across the street with a back-pack on his shoulder, Dean jerked his hand away from Bela wishing like hell for like a millionth time in his life that he had another pair of eyes on the back of his head so that he caught the moment his little brother materialized out of the blue before he saw anything that he wasn't meant to see. And how did he get there anyway?

He knew he was blushing, could feel the color rising up his neck until even the tips of his ears turn red. Good thing was that he could blame it on chilly air if necessary, and bad – the earth couldn't actually crack open and swallow him like he wished.

Out of the corner of his eyes he saw that Bela hurried to tuck her hands into the pockets of her coat and take a small step back as subtly as possible making the distance between them more formal. Well, at least he wasn't the one who felt… not quite uncomfortable yet, but a little uneasy without a doubt, as if he was kid caught in the closet while checking on the Christmas gifts when his parents supposedly weren't at home.

"Sammy!" Dean exclaimed beaming when Sam caught up with them breathing hard from the run, his eye jumping from his brother to Bela.

"Hey, Dean!"

"Sam! What a nice surprise," Bela drawled and beamed too when the younger Winchester gave her a grimace of a smile.

"Yeah, and speaking of surprises…" Dean's eyes narrowed, "What are you doing here?"

Sam's grin widened to such extent that for a moment Bela wondered if his face was going to chap.

"I thought you could use some help here," He informed Dean lightly with the subtext _Decided to keep an eye on you before you did something unforgettably stupid, again_ screaming so loud that Dean scowled and clenched his teeth tight. Yet, he didn't say anything.

Beside them, Bela cleared her throat masking her laughter with a cough, but obviously Dean didn't miss it as his frown deepened.

"So, when you were calling me in the morning…"

"I was on my way," Sam nodded patting him on the back.

"Oh, sure." Dean's own lips stretched into a smile which in Bela's opinion was just a bit too threatening for comfort as he nodded in agreement, mirroring Sam's fake enthusiasm. "Now isn't it nice? And what about _Halloween-sucks_ thing?"

"What? I _love_ Halloween, bro," on a not less threatening _We'll talk about it later_ glare. "Costumes, sweets. What else you can wish for?"

Funny how much they could say without saying anything at all, Bela thought, amused by the scene and fighting a wish to giggle, and feeling almost honored too. After all, this was all for her. Had they been alone, she was sure the moment would be different.

"Sure you do. Who doesn't?" Dean grumbled.

Sam ignored him and his mood completely though and asked instead, "So, what are you two up to here?"

Dean heaved a long sigh, giving up for now. His jaw twitched as he swallowed the words that were ready to escape his mouth.

"We were just coming from the hospital…" he started but stopped when Sam's eyes anything but popped out of his scull. Dean rolled his eyes and waved his hand at his brother. "Stop it, Sam, okay? It's along story where no one got hurt and everyone lived happily ever after." And winced embarrassed by his sudden outburst.

"Which I am sure I had enough of," Bela cut in smiling brightly at them both in turns. "You boys have fun now. It was nice to watch your little family reunion but I'm sure I can find another way to entertain myself." Which was fleeing, more or less but she just didn't care all that much. "He's all yours, Sam," she added as if Dean was a puppy, which only made Dean's frustration grow stronger.

"Wait, what are you…" Dean started before he realized he was actually speaking. God, he could almost _feel_ Sam's look.

"I've got things to do," she said in that condescending tone that he hated most. Like he was someone mentally handicapped. Gee, she all but patted him on the cheek. "See you around."

On that – or more like when no protests followed – Bela turned on her heels and left the two of them standing in the middle of the street without so much as a parting look at Dean, chin tipped high, all dignity in the flesh. Hadn't Dean known for sure, he's stake all his money on Bela taking her manners from English Queen, in person. Not that he ever gave things like that a lot of thinking.

"What? You're not going to call her back?"

"I'm sure I have no idea…"

"You seem a little too upset over her departure," San noted matter-of-factly, and Dean failed to figure out if it was a mocking comment or a mere observation, and which would be worse.

"Shut up." Sam chuckled and Dean added gravely, "Don't make me hurt you."

They both watched Bela's back as she made her way to her car parked half a block down the street, slid into the driver's seat and winded away, tires squealing on the asphalt; and then Dean turned to give Sam a long once-over, the feeling of frustration over the fact that her lil bro was nursing him like a Mother Hen still dominating over the rest.

"So, did you bring me the pie, dude?" He asked with a great deal of hope, eyes darting between Sam's face and his back-pack. Sam blinked at him silent _Huh?_ "A pumpkin pie?" Pause. "Cookies? Anything?"

"Sorry, man."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Aw, come on, Sammy! You drove here across half of the country overnight…"

"It wasn't that far, Dean."

"Whatever! And you didn't even think to bring me something from Bobby's?" He shook his head in disbelief. "Seriously, what the hell is wrong with you? You sure you're my brother?"

"I thought you hated Halloween," Sam shrugged.

"Yeah, but pumpkin pie, dude! And… how did you get here anyway?"

"Bobby have me one of his cars. I passed it down to the guy who'd return it to him as soon as I got here. And stop staring, she's gone."

Dean whipped his head around. "What?! What are you… I'm not!"

"Whatever," Sam breathed out mimicking Dean's tone. "So, what about the hospital?"

***

Dean had a million of things to say and at least a hundred of reasons to be pissed off but he sucked it all up and let Sam do whatever the hell he wanted to do. It annoyed shit out of him to know that Sam gave up on his lame vacation to jump around him but the truth was, they really worked better together and irritation aside, Dean had to admit that he really could use some help now that he came to a dead end anyway.

It's been a little past sunset when he left the premises of the old long-abandoned church, its windows and doors boarded up to keep the kids or homeless from getting inside, and walked to his car patting on his pockets in search of the keys and his new cell phone. Fished it out and found Sam's name on the quick dial list waiting impatiently for connection.

"_Dean?_"

"Got any news, Sammy?"

"_Depends_." Not really promising. "_What about you?_"

"Talked to local kids," Dean observed empty street before crossing it in a jog and slid into the Impala. Apparently, this part of the town wasn't the most popular place to hang out after dark.

"_And?_"

"No one knows the guy Mark, that lost kid, talked about." Dean started the ignition and let the engine warm up a little. "He came to their little cemetery party just once. Everyone thought he was with someone else and no one asked any questions."

"_Crap_."

"Exactly."

"_Anything else?_"

"Well, I got three more variants of his name. None of them is the last name though."

"_Terrific_." Here Sam must have winced, or so it sounded. "_We better not even try to start searching him by the name, I guess._"

"Yeah, well, average looks, ordinary name, and it leaves us what, 99% of the population?" Dean huffed. "I saw two punks on the bus stop this morning. Bet they're out of suspicion."

Sam chuckled. "_Who knows?_"

"Uh-huh." Dean adjusted the rearview mirror, checked the horizon and finally left the parking spot heading for the center. "So, what did you find?"

On the other end of the line Sam cleared his throat, and then a staccato of his fingers on the keyboard followed. "_I checked the deaths that took place before first attacks that ended up with decapitation were registered_."

"And let me guess – no swordsmen among them?"

Sam ignored the comment. "_A number of people died mysteriously in the woods or around. Some of them were buried in the local cemeteries, other were cremated. The rest were taken away by the relatives to be buried in other places_."

"Awesome," Dean breathed out.

"_Yeah, I knew you'd like it_." Sam sighed. "_No hint on who of them could be our guy_."

"Sure thing. It woulda been too good to be true."

"_Yep. But there was one thing that caught my attention although I can't say if it is actually something or if I am grasping at straws_."

"You? Grasping at straws?" Dean sneered. "What is it?"

"_The murders_." Sam took his time to find something or another, all this time Dean listened to his brother going through the papers and cursing in a low voice. "_Okay, here. The legend about the Headless Horseman first appeared soon after the war was over, and yes, ever since then people started finding decapitated bodies from time to time but they were more random and had nothing to do with age or gender of the victims. And the time of the year, too_."

Dean frowned. "Seriously? It wasn't a Halloween gig?"

"_Nope, but it became one some forty years ago_."

"Huh? Now, that's interesting, and what happened forty years ago?"

"_You tell me, man. I'm going through the records but I haven't found anything yet_."

One hand on the steering wheel, Dean turned the car to the right and into the street lit with shop-windows and neon signs. "Okay, keep searching and stay in touch."

"_Sure. And what about…_"

But Dean hung up before Sam could finish. "Talk to you later, Sammy."

***

Bela was chasing the necklace, the one that, rumor was, could make people ageless. Something she really wished to put her hands on. Well, not literary. She didn't know if it was true, the ageless part, and if it was, then it was serious black magic. But the best part about legends was that they were helping in raising the price and yet no one was actually asking for any proofs, which was working just fine for her.

So, the necklace. Supposedly, in private collection in Connecticut. And a couple of nice rings two states away that she didn't mind getting either. She also got a phone call from one the clients who wanted to buy an amulet and was offering very good money. In her mind, Bela already knew what she wanted to do with this sum so that she could get even more later, her brain working like a calculator, searching for better ways and profitable opportunities. That was how it worked – buying and selling to buy and sell something else. Occasionally stealing and selling that was not that bad, too. Either way…

Map sprawled on the coffee table, Bela marked her next destinations – underlined the towns and cities with a pencil – in attempt to plan her route. There was a painting in this town that she wasn't done with yet although she already knew who she'd sell it to. And if she could make it work…

And she also couldn't get the damned ghost out of her mind, too. Her shoulder was still giving her hard times and her head hurt every time she had to brush her hair and it was just frustrating. Maybe she should have shown the cut to someone who had a degree in medicine after all, first thing she found someone trustworthy. But it wasn't her case anymore. And as much as she didn't mind sticking around....

A knock on the door snapped Bela out of her thoughts and made her whip her head around so fast that she risked wringing her neck. Puzzled, she peered at the door for a moment too long. She wasn't expecting a package or correspondence or anything else, and there were not so many people who knew she was there.

Cautiously, Bela came up to the door trying to make as little noise as possible. She kept on of her guns in the upper drawer of a dresser and knew she could reach it in no time if she needed but after a short hesitation she decided not to demonstrate it until it was absolutely necessary. After all, it could be just a mistake. And anyway, why would someone who wished to kill her – and honestly, there weren't enough fingers on both her hands to count people who didn't mind seeing her dead – knock instead of breaking in? Where was element of surprise in that?

She propped the door open not quite sure what to expect… and felt her lips stretching into a smile against her will at the sight of Dean Winchester. He was standing in the middle of the hallway with a shameful and somewhat uncertain expression. And probably half-waiting for her to slam the door in his face too, or so his rather rueful smile implied.

"Well, well, well, knocking now, are we?" Bela drawled mockingly leaning against the door frame and tilting her head. "I don't remember the locks stopping you the last time. Or any other times, speaking of that."

He grinned widely at her. "I don't like to repeat myself."

Bela's brows arched. "You're just full of surprises, Dean." And his appearance at her doorstep was one of them, truth be told. Speaking of which… "What are you doing here? I thought you two would be head over heels in the case now that the brainic part of your dynamic duo arrived."

He scoffed at her wording. "Gee, thanks!"

Bela tried not to smile even wider. "So? Found anything yet?"

"We're working on it," Dean replied vaguely, and then awkward silence fell.

He looked around the hall, all so interested in the wallpaper or something else by the second, as it was the only way he could actually avoid looking at her without making it too obvious. Maybe. Could be. She wasn't sure he even contemplated such things. Or maybe he really liked the wallpaper. And they both probably looked like two idiots not able to say anything decent. Awesome!

"You boys need any help?" Bela inquired hoping they'd move on some time this century.

Dean's eyes grew wide with disbelief as soon as her words kicked in. He snorted. The question was almost insulting after all! "Puh-lease! Help? Why would we ever…" He trailed off when their eyes met. "I was just passing by," said shrugging, which probably was the lamest excuse ever. _What are you doing here?_ Good question! He wished he knew how on earth it happened that he ended up standing at her doorstep when his noble intentions were to make whatever had happened between them a one-night thing and disappear from her radar in that charming manner of his. "Thought you might be hungry."

With that he waved a brown paper bag he was holding in his hand before her face.

Bela peered curiously at it. "Sandwich and soda vs. exquisite French cuisine? Why would you think I'd be interested?" But her voice was light enough to make it clear she was just teasing him.

Still, Dean gasped. "Don't listen to her, baby," he told to the bag in a low soothing voice. "She doesn't know what she is talking about."

"If you two need to stay alone…"

Dean chuckled but his gaze was somewhat apologetic. "Thought I'd give it a try."

It amused Bela that he actually thought she didn't appreciate the effort. Her smile softened as she watching him fighting for a way to flee with as much dignity as he could find. Well, she didn't promise him good times, right?

"Why are you not having a family night or something? You know, beer, movies – they're showing _Halloween_ tonight by the way. Or you could go and dig out a couple of corpses."

"We decided to leave it till actual Halloween," he replied. "Sam is worried about shooting someone accidentally. Old habits die hard, see."

"Shoot first, ask questions later?" In a soft voice.

"The story of our lives."

"Open season for kids? Cute."

"Yeah," he chuckled. Cleared his throat, his eyes darting between her face and some point over her shoulder. "Okay then," he trailed off subtly as if he wasn't sure what exactly he wanted to say.

It looked to Bela like it took him a huge effort to meet her gaze again, and then even more – not to look away.

Dean shifted his weight from foot to foot pretty pissed with his own inability to find a proper quick wisecrack. The last time anyone made him feel so dumb was… well, never actually, which wasn't making things easier.

"If double-cheese turkey sandwich doesn't sound tempting to you, then I guess I gotta go and have my own private party."

And damn it, it sounded so much worse coming out of his mouth than in his mind that Dean felt an overwhelming urge to shoot himself. Jesus, he was pathetic! Why didn't she just turn him down right away? Why all this dancing around? That would probably make his humiliation short-lived and more bearable.

"Wait." Bela caught him by the loose fold of the jacket before this dolt actually believed that she was going to let him go just like that, please by surprised expression that appeared on his face. "I'm sure it's not the only tempting thing you have, Dean," she whispered pulling him into the room and slamming the door behind them.

* * *

**To be continued…**

Reviews and comments are always love. Please tell me what you think now that you made it this far anyway :)) Thanks!

And a bonus, kind of a teaser, or maybe just a video, depending on how you will see it :)) http:// www. youtube. com/watch?v=0zYV0nDQUsM


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's note:**This one is not really long, but please no flames. I hope you'll like it anyway :) I added some fluff for fluff-lovers

**Chapter 6

* * *

**

Dean knew that they were coming and that they were coming for him. He could hear them so clearly. Their breath. The sound of the claws on the pavement as they walked. Even their heartbeats, which was ridiculous. They didn't have the hearts. How could they? Why would they need them? There wasn't anything _living_ about them. Nothing.

They weren't in a hurry. There was no need for them to be. They knew there was no way for him to escape. No one could escape the hellhounds. No one could run away from them. There was no place to hide. And it was only making things worse.

They were scratching at the door now, their claws digging deep into the wood. Dean knew they were strong enough to break through it in a moment but this waiting was a part of the plan. Something to make his blood run cold with fear and desperation. Coming and killing him quickly would be just too merciful and they couldn't let it happen. His terror was what they needed more than anything. They could hear his quickened heartbeat too, he was sure of that. It was way too loud pounding against his ribs to miss it. His time was up and there was price to pay. A price for Sam's life. Just like he promised to Dad.

And then they began to howl. That blood-chilling sound that no living creature could produce, freezing Dean to the core, paralyzing him with animal fear. Horrible and almost hypnotic, carrying all depths of hell in it and yet somewhat joyful, anticipating. He wanted to start running, wanted to crawl into the deepest hole so that no one would ever be able to find him. He didn't want to die. He didn't want his life to end like this. It wasn't right. It wasn't supposed to be like that. He didn't want to die…

Dean woke up with a start and snapped his eyes open gasping for air and feeling sticky cold sweat on his face. It took him a while to realize that no one was scratching at the door craving for his life. Just a dream. Another one. He was having them all the time, every bloody night since he made a deal. Hellhounds. Hellfire. Always different, as he didn't know what they looked like. No one who saw them had time, or wish, or chance to record their observations. And maybe it was better like that, Dean was thinking sometimes. Of all the things in the world, that was something he didn't want to know. Not now.

Not that there was much time left till…

He tensed and caught his breath listening intensely to the sounds coming from outside the window. The shadows dancing on the ceiling looked so much like knotty fingers reaching out for him. But the rational part of him was back in the game before he knew it. It was too early. He still had several months left and they had no reason to come for him now. They wouldn't. 'Course they wouldn't. He just… he just had to make sure. Yeah, he was doing it often lately too, because despite all that he was saying to himself and to his brother, Dean was fucking scared. He just had to take a look out, see empty street and relish this feeling of relief for a little while longer.

There were times when he hated Dad for leaving them the way he did, in a blink of a moment, literary. One second he was there and the then – _poof!_ – and he was gone leaving so many words unspoken. But the other times, times like this, Dean thought that maybe it was better that way. Knowing the exact number of his days, crossing them out mentally was a hell of a torture itself. On the moments like this he almost wished it was all over. He was tired of being scared.

Bela didn't now what woke her up exactly – a dream that she didn't remember or the lack of Dean-related contact. Blindly, she reached out for him; rubbed at her eyes sleepily and opened them then, when it became obvious that he was gone. Grumbling under her breath – she was way too warm and comfortable! – she rolled over blinking to clear the sand from her eyes, and saw him standing at the window, dark figure against relatively light spot, staring outside, or maybe inside of himself, she couldn't say.

There was something wrong in the way he looked. The line of his shoulders was tense and even from her spot she could say that he was fast awake, unlike her. Yet, his gaze seemed to be unseeing, and hadn't Bela known any better, she would have probably thought he was sleepwalking.

Heaving a sigh, she slipped from under the warm covers and made her way to the window, curious to see what could have drawn so much of Dean's attention at – a quick glance over the shoulder – 3.20 am, cringing at the cold floor beneath her feet and fighting with the buttons of Dean's flannel shirt she so boldly borrowed to use for sleep. And, God, why wasn't he sleeping?

A step away from him Bela hesitated, not so sure all of a sudden that she had right to intrude what obviously was a private moment. Yet, she crossed that small distance between them before she actually decided to scram. Cuddled her face in his shoulders as her hand curved around his arm, found his fingers and entwined them with hers.

"Hey," her voice was low and hoarse from sleep.

Dean squeezed her hand back in response.

"Woke you up? Sorry."

"No, I just…" _couldn't fall asleep without you_, or better – _thought you sneaked away without so much as goodbye_, but she swallowed the words before they actually slipped out of her mouth. Oh dear, where did this come from? She was probably way too tired to think straight. Yeah, that was definitely it. "What's wrong?"

Her question snapped Dean out of whatever thoughts he was buried in. "What?" He blinked, his nightmare gradually waving out of his mind. "Nothing." He turned to give her a weak smile and rubbed at his forehead. "Just a bad dream."

Bela peered at his face for a moment too long and then nodded slowly. It wasn't surprising he was having bad dreams from time to time. With his job it was a must perhaps, only she seriously doubted that a simple dream could give him that deep crease between his brows. But she let it slip.

"What do you usually do for Christmas, Dean? Hunt the spirits of the past, present and future?" She asked with a small smile looking out the window too, but all she saw was a couple of streetlamps, a wet road and a flickering neon sign above the drug-store door half a block down the street. Thunder scattered across the sky and died in the distance. Bela shivered despite herself.

"Depends," he shrugged nearly jerking her off of him. "It's not like we have a working schedule or official holidays. Or the weekends, speaking of that." Dean chuckled and folded his arm around her shoulders pulling Bela closer. "Perhaps, we should write to the union or something. What d'you think?"

She laughed softly into his chest, feeling slightly lightheaded and utterly relaxed, like a piece of melting wax unable to keep one form.

"I'd like to see their faces when they get your complaint."

Damn it, it was going to be his last Christmas. Not that he ever cared much about it, but still. Dean sighed as subtly as possible. Ruby was a lying bitch and whatever her reasons were – he still didn't believe that she helped them to repair the Colt out of endless generosity since it wasn't working that way with the demons, period – he still trusted her on one thing. There was no way out for him.

Only he didn't want to think about it now.

"Thanks."

It took Bela a while to realize that he was actually talking to her. Almost lulled back into half-sleep by the sound of rain hammering steadily against the window and the soothing patterns Dean was drawing with his fingers on her back, she whispered, "For what?"

"For coming for me yesterday. If you didn't, I'd… Well, I'd be okay of course."

"Of course," she echoed in mock serious voice.

"But…"

"You're welcome, Dean," she said to save him long and boring explanation of why he was saying this or that. "You never told me how you escaped, by the way."

"It was the water," he explained.

"Holy water?"

"The river. He couldn't follow me across the running water. The spirits can't do that, apparently."

"Since when?" Okay, she knew a lot, but that was something she never heard of before.

"Since this guy, _what's-his-name_, wrote it in his story," Dean snorted.

"Interesting. And so much better than what I thought."

"And what was it?" His whisper tickled her temple.

"I thought you decided to commit suicide so as to save this bloody ghost the trouble of killing you. It wouldn't surprise me, you know."

Dean let out s short quiet laugh. "I'll save the idea for the next time. Come on." Bela felt his lips graze the top of her head. "Let's go back to bed."

"Dean?" There was some uneasiness about him that bothered her for the reason she couldn't quite put her finger on.

"Mm?"

In the dim light coming from the street, his green eyes glowed almost eerily.

Bela hesitated. God, why was it any of her business? He was probably thinking about how to make this damned world a little less crappy, what with this _I'm-a-knight-in-shining-armor_ idea of his, or about having his personal record in demon-hunting. Or – Jesus! – maybe even about finding new and better way to annoy hell out of her. The last one she absolutely wouldn't put past him.

But she wasn't going to voice any of that of course. Instead, she cupped his cheeks in her palms as her eyes traveled around his face. And then she frowned a little, one of her hands moved up to his forehead.

"I… I think you have a fever." No, she wasn't planning to say anything like that either. But his skin was a little too hot for her liking and that would probably explain a lot.

"What? Don't be ridiculous!" Dean bent away from her hands.

"Dean…"

"I'm fine!" he growled. Damn, it, what the hell she was talking about? 'Course he was fine! He never had any freaking fever in his life. It was just the damned dream that made his blood boil, nothing else, for God's sake! Dean sighed then, annoyed by his unjustified irritation. "Really, Bela, it's nothing. I don't have any fever." And again. "I'm fine."

"Fine," Bela closed the gap between them and pressed her lips to his, so not up to… anything, really. After all, maybe she was just getting a little cold from standing on not so warm floor. "Just making sure you're going to have good dreams from now on," she murmured.

Dean leaned in to catch her lips with his once again before whispering back, "Nice try."

***

He was dreaming again, about black horses with red eyes, their breath puffing out in small clouds of hot smoke. A whole herd of them, all around him. They were coming closer and closer. So close that he couldn't breathe properly. And then they started to shrink, their fur began to grow longer, their noses became thinner and their soft snoring turned into displeased grumble. And then the closest to Dean creature bared its teeth and he understood that it wasn't a horse anymore. None of them were the horses. They were the dogs. The hellhounds.

Dean wanted to find a string to pull himself out but the harder he tried, the deeper he was sinking, images flashing before him faster and faster until they became a blur. And then all of a sudden it all stopped and only one picture stayed, so clear. The answer he was looking for turned out to be so obvious that it made Dean wish to kick himself for being so bloody dumb and blind all the time. How could it happen that he didn't see it? He was such a moron! Shit, he could have stopped it all already!

It was the text message that woke Dean up in the end. Persistent beeping somewhere not far from his face finally snapping him out if his dream.

Groaning into the pillow, Dean reached out blindly for the sound trying to figure out how exactly it had happened that his eyelids became so heavy, like a whole ton each. What the hell was this all about? His throat itched, his mouth was dry like a desert and apparently someone had opened his scull while he was sleeping, removed his brain and replaced it with thick cotton that was now pressing onto his ears from inside. Hell, he couldn't think with that thing either. And no, he couldn't remember feeling so bad even on the morning after the prom night, and that in Dean's opinion was the worst morning in his entire life.

And so hot… Why was he still so hot if he'd woken up already? That part was supposed to stay behind. Or maybe he was still dreaming? Maybe he was sleeping in his dream and then he woke up – yeah, in his dream – and… and he was so not getting anywhere like this!

"Bloody hell," Dean moaned rubbing at his eyes as if physically trying to clear the sleepy sand out of them. Grabbed his mobile at last and flipped it open. A message from Sam.

All the thoughts and memories and apparent conclusions rushed into his mind like a river that broke through the dam before he even finished reading it. So, it was true! He could be right after all. He had to make sure, he had to…

Panicking slightly – because it could have been too fucking late already! – Dean kicked off his covers awkwardly trying to form actual plan in his head and wondering with growing annoyance why on earth would the walls spin around him and the floor be so damn unsteady. His skin felt so hot that even the warm air of the room seemed to be a little too cold. It sent a shiver down his spine and made his teeth chatter unevenly at the contrast.

Dean barely had time to register that he was alone in the room, his brain working a bit slower than it normally did before he had his morning cup of strong black coffee, when the door to the bathroom opened, and Bela emerged from it, fresh and flushing from the shower, wrapped in a towel and drying her hair with another one.

She saw him and smiled. And hell, she was beautiful…

"Oh, look who is finally up. I thought you decided to sleep all day."

"Hey," Dean smiled back as best he could, having serious problems with producing any sounds. His throat felt like sandpaper but he hoped he could write it off to sleepiness at the moment. _Come on, say something!_ Hell, he couldn't even think properly, the thoughts in his head dying before being fully formed, and he so hated the spots jumping before his eyes and sort of making the whole picture somewhat blurred. So uncomfortable…

"Dean?"

Okay, maybe he wasn't pulling it.

He blinked and saw that Bela was frowning now. Fuck, she must have said something that he missed. Okay, quick answer, quick answer… If only he had any idea. Something neutral. A sound? Just so she knew he was still alive. Mm, he could cough. Perhaps. Oh, he was so not feeling good!

"You okay?"

_No, not really. Quite on contrary._ "Okay" was a very optimistic overestimation.

"Yeah, I'm fine," Dean tried to speak casually, kept his fake smirk up. Hell, the whole world was swaying a little. It was making him nervous. "Look, I think I know…" He trailed off loosing the train of his thought. What was he going to say again?

Bela let the small towel fall onto the back of the chair and approached him cautiously, as if some wrong move or step could be fatal. Like he was something fragile, lie a china cup. Did he really look that bad?

"Dean?" Suddenly she was right before him, like he blacked out for a moment or two, her face worried.

He had to tell her. He had to call Sam. He had to do something but the whole world seemed to be slipping away. Dean felt Bela's fingers somewhere on his body, a supportive arm on the small of his back. She was talking to him, he could hear her voice coming as though from the distance but failed to make out the words. He looked in her face, her green eyes were big and scared. And that all of a sudden, this sincerity and genuine concern frightened him to the core. He shouldn't have let it happen. He didn't want to hurt her. He had no right to add Bela to the list of people he was going to leave soon, however short it was.

Dean fought to find the right words to say but before he could open his mouth someone turned off the sound and then everything went black.

***

Coming back to reality wasn't nice and some part of him struggled against it as hard he could. Dean awoke to a pounding headache. Soft woozy cotton was gone and replaced by the rocks that rolled inside of his head bumping against his skull and making him feel like he had put a metal basket on his head and then someone hit it with a baseball bat. Even breathing was pretty unpleasant. His skin was still burning too and, speaking from experience, he felt like he'd been run over by the truck. Or maybe barely survived a very cruel torture. Actually, he wouldn't be really surprised if it turned out he lived through both.

Blinking, Dean opened his eyes slowly, strong feeling of self-preservation reminding him that the light could be as painful as a punch, and saw… Sam. He was sitting in the chair, either reading the magazine he held in his hands or daydreaming, Dean couldn't say. In the chair that Dean knew he last saw in Bela's hotel room, which caused a very logical question – what did he miss?

"Time to rise and shine, sleeping beauty," Sam smiled.

He stood up, dropped the magazine to the coffee table and came up to sit near Dean on the edge of the bed tucking one of his long legs beneath his butt.

"Hay, Sammy." Wait a sec! Was that terrible voice really his? How the hell did it happen? "Wassup?"

"You ask me, you dork?"

Yeah, well… "Apparently, you're the one who has a clue. And thanks."

It was all coming to him slowly. And maybe staying dead to the world for a little while longer made sense after all. Not that postponing the humiliation would change anything but Dean just liked it better this way.

Sam smirked. "You're welcome. Feeling better?" His eyes searched for something on his brother's face.

Actually, he was, Dean noticed with surprise. He was still feeling as bad as he only could imagine, all things considered, but at least his perception of the world sharpened. It was kinda funny to see everything like on the old film, like early Chaplin movies but only for a short period of time.

"A little," and added when Sam's brows shot up, "Don't trust the sound. It's better than it seems."

"Well, if you say so…" Sam drawled, and he also had that look like he knew that his brother did something utterly stupid but wanted him to figure it out on his own so that Dean learned the lesson better. Or maybe he just didn't have the balls to say it in his face.

Awkward silence fell, and then Dean knew he couldn't pull it off any longer. He looked around the room as subtly as possible, just to make sure, and cleared his throat. Well, it was dry and pretty sore anyway.

"Where's…"

"Sorry, man, your girlfriend had to leave." And Sam indeed sounded apologetic. Not good. "Someone called her. She said she'd be back soon."

"My…?" Dean blushed. Or at least he felt the heat raising up his face and prayed for the fever – and he did feel it now, too – to mask it up somehow. Cleared his throat again and looked at the ceiling. "I don't understand... Why do you…"

"Aw, come on, Dean! You're lying half naked in her bed." Sam sneered and shook his head. "Bela called me when you passed out sounding rather frantic. She was hysterical, more or less, when I came. And she was wearing your shirt. I mean, _only_ your shirt." He made a meaningful pause. "Although it was probably the fact that she offered me the coffee while the doctor was stitching up your arm that made me slightly suspicious."

"Stitched?" Now that was new.

"Your arm. You know, so that you wouldn't screw it up before it is healed."

"Oh." Okay, at least he didn't miss _that_ much.

"She was pretty worried, you know," Sam said really matter-of-factly. "Like, really worried."

"Who?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "Naomi Campbell!"

Dean blinked. And then, "Fuck." Bela. Closed his eyes for a moment as if the thought was painful. "You sure?"

"Not that she said it to me."

"Crap. "So it wasn't he just seeing things. Now what was he supposed to do?

"Dean…"

"Look, it's not like… we just…"

"Wait! I can live without the details."

"No, you dumbass!" Dean growled. "I… it's not like I planned it or something." He exhaled loudly. "It just happened, okay?"

"Yeah, sure, and you all of a sudden just forgot who she was and everything," Sam grinned. "Listen, it's between the two of you, and whatever is going on--"

"Nothing's going on."

Sam watched him for a moment. "Next time you say it, Dean, try to sound more convincing, okay?" And added, as if it made any difference, "She didn't pull it any better, so here's the idea – work of in together."

It took Dean the whole twenty seconds to get that his brother was so making fun of him. He scowled wishing he could actually hurt Sam somehow with the power of his mind because apparently at this point he couldn't say anything to save the face. Seriously, there should be some limit to his humiliation, no?

"Screw you." he grimaced in response. Cast a look at the fresh bandage on his arm and finally bothered to ask, "So, what happened? Why am I playing little princess here?" Besides, he was genuinely curious about it.

Sam sighed, his face slightly worried again. Or maybe not so slightly.

"Exhaustion, hypothermia and blood loss," he looked pointedly at Dean's injured limb, "backfired. Guess, you should be lucky you didn't end up with pneumonia on top of it all. From me, I'd also add you're lucky you're still alive."

"Don't start it all over again, Sammy."

It was the deal that was affecting him, making him weak. Making him wish to be weak, if only once in a lifetime. To be human, not a demon-killing robot. Some part of him stopped fighting, and he knew it. Only Sam didn't have to be aware. It was one little thing – one of a few – that was going to die with him.

"No, Dean, seriously--" He was up and pacing before the bed restlessly.

"What? I should have walked away and let people die? You know it doesn't work this way."

"Don't you put the words in my mouth. I'm just saying that you should be more careful… now."

"Now that I'm knocking on the hell's door, you mean? Sure, makes sense! So that I looked fresh and rested when I arrive to that hot spa resort?"

"Dean--"

"Or so that I didn't ruin them all the fun of killing me by doing it myself?" Dean smirked, but his voice was ice-cold and suddenly strong. He was so not going to give in to the bloody deal. "Not gonna happen, Sammy. Over my dead body." And as an afterthought. "Literary."

"Right," Sam agreed immediately, his jaw set stubbornly. "Because you're not gonna die."

And, here they were again! Like for a zillionth of time, talking about the things that neither of them could change. It was more than annoying now. It was just… insufferable.

"Not now, Sam," Dean winced.

"What-_the-hell_-ever," Sam breathed out looking away, all _you-can-say-whatever-you-want-but-it-won't-change-what-I-think-and-how-I-feel_, and it was something that Dean simply couldn't do anything about, like he couldn't get into his brother's mind and make him see the things the way he was seeing them. Not now at least, although he didn't mind trying some time, and God help him but he was up to it unless Sam stopped getting on the nerves about all this shit. Hell, he was scared like never before but it was the only was to save his brother, so Dean was going to suck it up and jump into the abyss. End of story.

Dean propped himself on one elbow. His head protested the movement and he clenched his teeth tight to stifle a frustrated groan. Yeah, he'd have his time to sit in the corner and listen to Dolly Parton and brood about his fucked up like. Maybe the next weekend, or on Christmas morning. Now he had things to do.

"Damn it, Sam, where did you put my clothes?"

Sam was right at his side frowning and looking so worried that Dean almost felt a twinge of guilt for his back-up plan.

"Whoa, man! What are you doing?"

"What doest it look like, dude?" Dean gave him a glare and then finally spotted a pile of his neatly folded clothes lying on top of the dresser. "I'm not going to chill out here like some friggin' princess when this thing kills people out there. Crap!" The last one referred to his head that kept spinning around like after five rounds on the rollercoaster.

"Dean, you can't--"

"Am I actually asking for permission here or what?" He growled. Okay, he knew it wouldn't be easy. But come on! "Look, I know what's going on there," Dean pinned his brother with his gaze and added unwillingly, "I think I know. And I'm gonna…"

"A couple of hours ago you nearly burned a hole in the linen. You're in no condition to even walk out the room." Sam's voice was calm and assured, and maybe he did have a point here but Dean was not going to let him have it.

"I'm okay," he hissed.

"No, you're not, you're wearing yourself off as if it really makes sense, you're…"

"I'm what?" And they were waling in circles here. Time for plan B. "Shit!" Dean fell backwards onto the pillow and closed his eyes. Hoped it didn't look too theatrical but he really didn't feel all that well, so chances were it actually worked.

"Dean?" Now Sam sounded very close to really scared.

"Hell, it hurts."

"What?"

"Everything. Damn it, Sammy!"

"Oh, okay… Hold on, Dean, just… Wait!" Through the half-open eyes Dean saw him running to the bathroom from where he returned a moment later with a glass of water. Reached for something on the nightstand. "Here, this lady doctor left some pills for you."

Dean felt his hand under his neck, opened his eyes and started at the small bottle. "What the hell is that? Baby Tylenol with banana flavor? You know it doesn't help."

"Yeah, I know, I know," Sam looked around the room with desperate hope as if he waited for something else to appear out of thin air. His eyes locked on his brother again. "Hey, how are you?"

"Are you kidding? How do you think I am?" Dean groaned. Oh, Sam was so going to have his ass for it. Some time.

"I'm sorry, man. Hell, can you give me a sec? I'll be right back. I promise."

"Whatever."

"Okay. Just a second, Dean. Just… hold on here."

The door slammed close behind Sam's back. Dean gave himself a moment and then opened his eyes, first the right one, then the left, hoping he was good enough for Sam to buy it. Apparently he was. Okay then. One babysitter gone, another one – skillfully manipulated away. Dean had to do things fast before either of them came back and ruin everything. If he was right, he'd be done with the case. If he was wrong… well, he'd crawl back like a guilty puppy.

***

…Bela got back to her hotel, pushed the door open on, "I know I said I'd be back soon…" and trailed off when her eyes observed empty room.

She paused in the doorway for a moment doing her best to block like a million of questions that rushed through her mind with the speed of a small tornado and tried pretend that she didn't care. Then she finally walked in and closed the door behind her. Swept the room with another cursory glance. Well, it was really nice of them to disappear without leaving a single trace. Seemed like they cleaned after themselves. But then it could be the room service. Yeah, that was a more realistic guess.

She's got a call from the buy interested in the painting she had insisting on meeting urgently, for whatever reason he had. It wasn't like Dean was actually dying or something, he had a brother as support group and was severely doped on painkillers. And, for God's sake, she wasn't anyone's babysitter. Okay, she cared, true, and she couldn't think of the damned painting properly. Almost forgot even what exactly she wanted to get for it. Now that was something new!

Yet, she did it and she got very good money… and a very empty room when she came back. No sign of either of the Winchesters, or anyone else. If it wasn't for her suitcase she spotted right away, tucked between the bed and the dresser, exactly where she left it when she checked in, Bela decided she would have even thought she broke into the wrong one.

She heaved a sigh and rubbed at her eyes. Fine! She was done here anyway and if Dean wanted it to end this way… Not that she expected anything else…

The door swung open behind her again making her spin around, and Sam barged in, a brown paper bag in his hand, on "Hey, Dean, sorry, they didn't have…" nearly running into her, and stopped dead in his tracks. "Oh, Bela, back already?" His eyes flickered around the room. "Where's Dean?"

…And here they were!

"What do you mean you don't know where he is?" Sam asked while his eyes kept growing with pure terror.

"Turn on the logic, Sam." Bela scoffed fighting her own inner panic. "I leave you boys together here and go away, then I come back and you ask me where your brother is? Gee, how did you get to college? And… and where have you been anyway?"

Sam swallowed taking his time to actually process her question.

"I…" he glanced quickly over his shoulder. "Dean asked me to get…" his eyes moved to the plain paper bag in his hand then, "something that he apparently didn't need." The last part came out as a frustrated huff. "Damn it!"

"Nice."

"So, he wasn't here when you came?"

"No, actually we heard you coming and Dean decided to hide," Bela told him with mock seriousness. "He's in the upper drawer of the nightstand, you can check."

Sam's face darkened. "This is not a joke, Bela."

"Well, obviously, your brother has a wicked sense of humor, Sam," she replied coolly, her voice ringing, anxiety and fury mixing inside of her creating a dangerous cocktail. The one that was making her wish to find Dean alive and in one piece so that she could kill him with her own hands.

"So, you didn't see him?"

"Like I said."

"And he didn't call you?"

"Nope."

"A note?" Grasping at straws now, Bela could see it. Sam was really panicking, and she didn't think it was good.

They both looked around the room, but it would have been too good to be true.

"His phone is off," Bela gave her mobile an angry glare – after dialing Dean's number, three times – like it really could be blamed for anything.

"Great." Sam found his own phone and did the dame thing, and then cursed under his breath. "He tricked me."

"So, you do it in the family, too? Cute!" Bela smirked lest her worry be too obvious. Sam regarded her darkly but she ignored him. "Any bright ideas now?"

If a little belatedly, she wondered what exactly the younger Winchester had thought about the whole situation between her and his brother when she had called him first. She didn't have time to ponder any of that before, and Sam didn't say anything when he'd arrived, and she had no idea why was she thinking about it now when they sort of had another big problem to solve at the moment.

"I… I don't understand," Sam ruffled his shaggy hair, looking desperate and oddly tired all of a sudden. "Dean didn't feel well… Not that he said it," he added quickly. "But it was obvious. He seemed to be a little worked up over the case, too."

"You talked about it?" Oh, yeah, trust Dean to worry about the ghost instead of himself! This wasn't all that surprising!

"No, not really. Dean… he…" Sam paused recalling the conversation. "He said something about knowing what was going on but we didn't get any further."

"And?"

"And… that's it."

"You mean he just said he knew something?" Bela frowned. "How would he… Did you tell him anything?"

"What? No!" Sam rubbed at his forehead thoughtfully. "I made some research, and sent Dean a text message earlier this morning. That's it, I swear."

"What was in there?" She inquired.

"In my message? A bunch of names, a couple of headlines from the old newspapers." Sam shrugged. "Really, I don't know what he meant when he said he knew. It's crazy." He shook his head. "There wasn't anything special. I'd notice!"

"Apparently, you didn't." Bela hemmed. "Give me your phone."

"Why?" He narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

She rolled her eyes. "Just give me the bloody thing, for God's sake!" And reached out her hand for it, palm open.

Sam sighed but complied, and then moved to stand behind her so that he could watch over Bela's shoulder what she was doing. She opened the messages and then the "Sent" folder. "You know that you have no social life, do you?" Asked scrolling them down till she found the one sent to Dean's number and read it, twice, and then froze staring at one point sightlessly.

"What?" Sam couldn't have missed the change in her. He peered at Bela, even caught his breath in anticipation. "What is it?"

Slowly, she turned to him. "I think I know where he could be."

* * *

**To be continued…**

Thank you for reading. Reviews and comments are always appreciated :)

The next chapter is the _last one_ so make your bets on how it is going to end ;)


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's notes**: Yeah, I know, I know. It took me like _ages_ to update it :P I'm sorry, guys, really but my new job is killing me, in all possible senses. But anyway, here it is and I hope you'll enjoy it.

I really appreciate all support and comments and everything :)

Some of you will hate me for the ending. Feel free to express it! lol

* * *

**Chapter 7 **

The lock was so easy to pick that Dean was almost sorry for the man who actually relied on it to protect him. Even amateur could get inside within five seconds, save alone someone who had been doing it for years. It wasn't even funny.

He looked around one last time to make sure he wasn't spotted and then let himself into the small hallway, closed the door carefully behind his back and paused, listening. Yeah, the host wasn't at home, he knew it, but it never hurt to be cautious all the same, and if he was actually right, it was a necessity. Only God knew what was waiting for him somewhere in this house.

Dean peeked out the window one more time. Speaking from experience, he knew that the neighbors could be freaking sneaky and immeasurably curious, especially in quiet suburbs where all strangers were potentially dangerous and thus suspicious, and least of all he needed to scram from the police right now. But the curtains didn't move and the sirens didn't howl in the distance, and Dean heaved a relieved sigh. He turned around and observed narrow corridor.

_So, where do we start now?_ Basement? Attic?

Dean smelled it long before he saw it, the scent he knew as long as he could remember himself. Wax candles. For him, they associated either with rituals or the abandoned houses without electricity, depending, and caused all sorts of both pleasant and unpleasant memories. In this particular case he was going to stick to the first variant since this place definitely didn't belong on the list of their usual squat residences.

In the living room, he swung open double doors of the wooden cup-board and whistled softly to himself at the sight of the altar inside. Several midsection shelves were removed to make more space. A circle drawn in chalk on the lower shelf was surrounded by said candles and bowls with what looked very much like blood. Turfs of dried herbs were lying nearby, and so were the hex bags, one in each of the corners. The scent of warm melting wax was still lingering in the air as though someone had just blew out the candles, and for some reason Dean wasn't really surprised to discover it even if he knew that the house owner hadn't been home for a little while. He picked up a small metal box that was places in the middle of the circle and opened the lid.

"Nice," hemmed to himself observing the contents that consisted of dried wood, a white piece that probably was a bone (human?) and a pile of dirt (probably from the graveyard as some rituals required), somewhat pleased that he wasn't wrong after all, but the fact itself didn't make things better. Besides, he still had a couple of questions left, but Dean was sure that old photo albums and a travel down the memory lane would be enough to satisfy his curiosity.

But he'd get back to it later. Now he needed…

***

"A hospital?" Sam's brows shot up in disbelief, the insanity of the idea making him all but laugh when Bela stopped the car and killed the engine. "You seriously think he came here on the will of his own? Believe me, no fever would've ever made Dean do that."

Bela slammed the door close. "No, you idiot." She rolled her eyes when Sam got out, too. "I think he saw something – or someone – here yesterday. Your brother is not exactly Einstein, see. It probably took him several hours to figure out what it was. I don't know, for God's sake! He was weird, okay?"

"Oh, I don't know, Bela." He drawled with a great deal of doubt. "Dean and hospitals, it's just…" _impossible_ he trailed off, shrugging.

"If I'm wrong, we can always get back to your plan. Remind me please what it was, exactly?" She asked and batted eyelashes at him for good measure, waiting for an answer.

Sam gave her a glare and pursed his lips tight hating her inwardly for being so damn right. So yeah, he didn't have much to offer. In certain situations he thought he knew Dean better than himself, whereas on the other times he couldn't even begin to imagine what his brother could possibly be up to. The problem was, he could be up to absolutely anything!

Sam exhaled loudly through his nose but followed Bela wordlessly. Pulled out his cell phone – no missed calls! – and dialed Dean's number again, but all he heard was a polite voice telling him that the phone was switched off or out of the network service area. Like he didn't know it! Bela was watching him expectedly, he could see it from the corner of his eye, but she didn't ask anything. Perhaps, his snapping his phone close on a frustrated grunt when Dean's voice told him to leave a voice message was an answer she found satisfying.

Inside, they took the lift to the third floor and stopped in the middle of the hallway watching the patients, doctors, nurses and visitors were walking past them, chatting and looking rather frantic. Most of them.

"So, what now?" Sam looked curiously around; he fought to imagine Dean somewhere here but failed miserably. His brother could make a split second decision and rush into a fight but he was so not a hospital person.

"Now…" Bela scanned the hall thoughtfully chewing at her lower lip, and then smiled widely. "Now we can use some of your sweet-boy charm for help". Her eyes flickered towards the nurse at the registration desk.

***

The time was nearing four in the afternoon, but there, under the trees, it seemed to be a lot darker than that. Felt like the sun had been long down already. Or maybe the winter was just taking in and shortening the days the best way possible claiming on every single ray of light.

Dean was walking slowly holding his gun up, each step as quiet as possible in the woods full of dry leaves and cracking branches. Even his breath was shallow lest it draw someone's attention. His eyes darted from side to side as he listened intensely but the forest stayed silent and somewhat grey, shadows and fog swallowing everything around. His hand flexed on the weapon, finger on the trigger and ready to pull. It was too quiet for Dean's taste. Too quiet for comfort.

He span around when the owl hooted in the distance feeling that his heart jumped up to his throat and started beating like twice faster than it should. Dean swallowed hard and felt a wish to giggle a tad hysterically. His own jumpiness was amusing and unnerving at the same time.

It was just a ghost for God's sake! It would hardly… well, it could harm him. The stitches on his right hand were a hell of a proof, but it wasn't invincible or something. And he could… he thought he could think out a way to _get rid _of it.

He reached the spot where Ron Jenkins, or whatever the poor guy's name was, had been killed not more than a couple of days ago and stopped. Dried blood had no longer been seen in the eerie dusk and only yellow tape was standing out against the grayish shades of his surroundings. That Dean was grateful for. The place was giving him creeps without extra unpleasant views. He turned around peering at the trees so hard that his eyes began to hurt, and maybe even stopped breathing for a while but the only thing that he heard was another hoot somewhere far away.

The fog was everywhere around him now, thicker near the ground. To Dean it looked like he was standing in the knee-deep layer of cotton as if the clouds suddenly fell from the sky and covered the earth. In the back of his mind he wondered absently – not having any idea of why would he be thinking about such things at all – if he could actually grab a handful of it had he dared to let go of the gun and bend down to touch it. He didn't do it though. Feeling its coolness through his jeans was enough.

The whole situation reminded him of another horror movie. And why couldn't he work in the candy shop for once? Or in a beer factory? Or wait, in the strip bar? That would be rewarding at least, in a way. And yeah, too good to be true.

"Come on, I know you're here somewhere," Dean muttered. "You're not going to make me wait till dawn, are you?"

"Sorry, should have shown up earlier." Dean whirled around at the sound of the voice behind his back. "But you were so funny crawling here like that."

Dean smirked to himself and aimed his shotgun right at the speaker's chest. Past experience proved that it could be useless but he was up to giving it another try.

Saw a teen boy – or more his silhouette – standing under the tree, his voice was calm and sure. Well, not that he expected anyone else… Dean gave him a long studying look down the barrel of the gun trying to make out the details as best he could, given the circumstances. He was tall and fit. Mark was right about his hair – he resembled a character from "Pleasantville". Personally, Dean would also add a word or two about his clothes. Unfortunately, it hardly was good time to discuss fashion.

"Up for some rock salt?"

The boy returned the look, his expression somewhat amused.

"I wouldn't do it, if I were you."

And maybe it was just Dean's imagination, but he definitely heard some sarcasm behind the phrase. And maybe threat, too.

"Or what? You will summon something else? Another pet?" Dean chuckled. "Gabe, right? Gabe Wilson? Saw you yesterday at the hospital. You didn't look good, what with being in coma and on medical ventilation apparatus."

"It's just a body."

"You mean you're better off without it? You're so optimistic, dude!"

"It's old and insane," Gabe snorted.

"Don't be so hard on yourself." And then, "But if you do insist that you're insane, I won't try to reassure you. Promise!"

The boy scoffed. "Who of us sold a soul?"

Dean froze feeling something cold and nauseant forming in the pit of his stomach, like every other time he was reminded of the deal. "How--?"

"It is written on your face."

"In a good handwriting, I hope? I wouldn't want to give anyone wrong idea."

"It's funny to see how you try to help the others, Dean, when you're so far from helping yourself," there was mock pity in Gabe's voice that set Dean's teeth on edge. "Instead of coming to the surface, you only seem to sink deeper and deeper, making one bad decision after another. Like, you know, trying to get out of the quick sand. It only swallows you faster when you struggle."

Okay, what else is new? Like he didn't know it all along! Please! It was annoying though to have one nasty ghost rub it in his face.

Speaking of the ghosts… "Okay, so tell me, dude, what was all this small show about?" Dean pointedly ignored Gabe's comment. It wasn't any of his business after all. Wiggled his gun to enunciate his point. "Needed a hobby? Try poker next time. Kinda relaxin'."

The boy's gaze sharpened and he pursed his lips into a thin line for a moment before speaking again. "You have no idea what it feels like to be an outcast only because you told the truth but no one believed you."

"Oh, humor me!" Dean rolled his eyes.

"I saw this thing out there and I knew that it was real but everyone thought I was nuts."

"And you decided to make it real for them," Dean finished for him. "How cute! Granting wishes like a fucking fairy god-mother? Awesome! Picked up random dead guy and made him your tool to kill people. What were you saying about being sane again?"

Gabe's fists balled. "They had to believe instead of making me town's weirdo."

"Yeah, and I see that it worked just fine." Dean chuckled. "You've been killing innocent people for the whole forty years, and now – what a surprise! – you're still a freak. And it never occurred to you, like maybe a couple decades ago, that you're probably doing something friggin' wrong, no? Now that's what I call stubborn stupidity. No offence!" And he flashed his best and charming smile.

"You know that it's real, what's out there." It wasn't a question.

"Absolutely! And the last thing I want in this world is to make everyone know it, too. Believe me, they're much happier without it." And added as an afterthought. "But on the other hand, why would you ever care about someone's happiness, right?"

"And you care about it just a little too much for someone who has so little time left," Gabe scoffed obviously knowing which spot to hit to make it hurt most.

"Well, not all of us are dicks, see," Dean informed him. "And believe me or not, but I'm going to end this shit." He still had no idea – _how_, but really, had he ever failed so far?

"Good luck," the boy let out short laugh, and then the earth began to tremble under someone's heavy footsteps.

Feeling that the hair began to rise on the back of his head, Dean turned around already knowing what he was going to see there and hating himself for always being right when it came to such things. Strangely, the horseman looked even bigger this time, like it… like it grew somehow. Or maybe it was danger that Dean could feel with every single cell of his body that was making the damn thing look scarier. Polished like a mirror sword winked at him teasingly, and he swallowed hard as the goose-bumps ran down his spine when he thought of the easiness with which it would cut right through him. Absently, Dean noted that with the sky all covered with thick clouds and the whole forest being consumed by the fog, the horse's eyes were glowing a lot brighter than he remembered. He could barely tear his gaze away from them.

"Holy crap," he breathed out taking a small step back. Now that was something he didn't expect when he was heading to talk to Gabe Wilson's and maybe try to reason with him. "Dude, don't you have anything else to do? How're you doing that?" The last question was addressed to Gabe even though Dean didn't dare to look away from the horseman.

"Not a big deal."

"Fine. I see you're a sneaky powerful bastard. Now tell your friend that it's not safe to play with the sharp objects." Mesmerized, Dean watched the ghost clenching and unclenching his hand on the hilt as if getting ready for a strike.

Gabe chuckled. "I think the two of you are not finished yet."

"Only because I shot him once?! Come on! I know it didn't exactly tickle, but…"

Dean cocked his gun and shot first the headless figure and then its pet; the load hit them in turns, flew right through them and grazed the truck of the tree. But just like before, it didn't change anything. Apparently, messing a little with the altar at Gabe's house wasn't enough to break the spell – not that he seriously hoped. The ghost didn't disappear either. It wasn't even harmed, not even a little. Dean felt desperate panic growing inside of him. He was seriously screwed this time and he knew it.

"Hell, why are you doing all of this? All the people you killed... you didn't even know them. Hell, they didn't even know you existed!"

"Exactly," Gabe shrugged, or so it seemed to Dean when he saw slight movement out of the corner of his eye.

And it was like a command that the horseman was waiting to attack. Soundlessly – except for the dull _thump_ of his landing – the horse jumped forward before Dean had time to blink, sharp sword up and ready. Dean barely managed to duck before he joined the "Headless Club".

"Son of a bitch," cursing, he fell to the ground and rolled away and behind the thick trunk of the nearest tree. Plan B?

***

Bela never saw Sam working before. Well, maybe except for "Mizzz Chase" case when he definitely wasn't at his best trying to avoid Gert's not so subtle groping. He was grumbling and grimacing all the way through. Bela knew that he hated her then, for offering it in the first place.

In the hospital, though, it was an entirely different story. It was almost entertaining to watch him play his role. Shy smile, two cute dimples, low confiding voice and confused expression were all it took to charm young nurse and manipulate her away from the reception desk to show him something – Bela missed entirely what it was, exactly – so that she could take a look at the records in the computer. Gee, hadn't she known any better – and had she been someone else – she's probably come to a verge of buying it herself, Bela decided as she was scrolling down the list of the third floor patients.

She shook her head thinking that she had to give them that – the Winchesters were actually pretty good when it came to acting and pretending. Poor girl had no chances against Sam…

"Look, Bela, I know…" Sam began with a great deal of uncertainty as the car turned around the corner, and cut off when she slowed down near the neat old house where Bela – damn prophet – said Dean most likely would be. He looked out the window and then at her. "You've gotta be kidding me."

***

She hit the brakes, the car jerked forward in protest and then stopped, and at the same time they heard two load shots, definitely coming somewhere from the depths of the woods, one after another followed by the low voices. Bela killed the engine; the headlights died as well and the darkness swallowed them.

"Dean," Sam breathed out turning paler by the second. He pushed open the passenger door and rushed outside not bothering to close it.

Bela caught up with him two seconds later which wasn't easy assuming that Sam's legs were like twice longer than hers, saw him pull out the gun, a mixture of panic, fear and determination crossing his face, and frowned to herself.

He must have heard her footsteps behind his back because he suddenly turned around before going deeper into the forest and mouthed, "Stay here."

"What?" Bela hissed. "No!"

"Yes!" He snapped. "Who knows what's in there?"

"Exactly, Sam! Why would I trust you to deal…"

He didn't wait for her to finish, just turned on his heels and started to run into the shadows where distant rustling – as if someone was making their way right through the bushes – was coming from. Cursing under her breath, Bela followed him doing her best to stay close and blocking all the thoughts about Dean being… well, in trouble out of her mind.

"Stay out!" Sam growled through clenched teeth when he saw her out of the corner of his eye.

She didn't dignify him with any kind of an answer, only glared at him darkly promising all horrors of hell with her eyes. The bad thing was, it had been a little too dark for him to appreciate it but she was sure he felt it just fine. At least he didn't say anything else.

"Where are they? Can you hear anything?" He asked suddenly in a whisper barely slowing his pace.

Bela fought overwhelming fear rising inside of her when she realized that the whole forest seemed to die out all of a sudden, and felt cold hand clench her stomach. She swallowed past the nauseating feeling turning her head from side to side – as if the picture looked any different! And then they both jumped, literary, when another loud shot broke through the silence and spooked the birds, if panicked flapping of wings that followed it was any indication. And then someone began to laugh, and the sounds seemed to be coming from everywhere around them.

Sam rushed ahead to where the shot came from, dark determination on his face, and teeth clenched tight.

When Bela reached him – practically stumbled into him – he was standing still and aiming at something that she couldn't see over his broad shoulders. He barely noticed her appearance, all too focused on whatever there was before him. Sighing with annoyance – and why would he be so damn big?! – Bela chanced a glance around him… and froze.

Dean was lying on the ground with his gun up while something big and black was mounting above him. It took her a moment to realize that it was a man in black cloak and… bloody hell, without a head! Her eyes grew bigger and she gasped quietly when she spotted long sword glinting in almost complete darkness.

"Dean," Sam muttered.

"You stay away from me, son of a bitch!" Dean growled at the figure. "Get out of here, Sam!" Barked then, and after that he pulled the trigger deafening the three of them for a little while.

It didn't do any good though, the sword came up again, and now that Dean was all but sprawled on the frozen ground, there was no chance for the horseman to miss.

"Like hell," Sam muttered and fired too, several times.

As for Bela, she could only stare at the surreal picture with shock and disbelief. At Dean. At… at… at what she had already seen in the past. Tried to wrap her mind around the whole situation but failed miserably. Felt she was all but glued to the place, horrified and unable to move. The fact that neither of the Winchesters caused any trouble to that creature with their weapons was blood-chilling. What did they all get themselves into? She swallowed hard fighting to… snap out of this state or something, and then suddenly noticed a boy standing to the left from them barely visible in deep shadow. Frowned, wondering who he was and what the hell he was doing there, not even sure he was real or something. He was so out of place that…

He turned and Bela felt his eyes on her. She couldn't see his face clearly, leave alone the expression but she could have sworn that he smiled and there was something very creepy about it. If the situation could possibly get any creepier, which she wasn't all that sure of. Bela shivered despite herself. Spotted dark silhouette of the horse standing near the tree and huffing impatiently. The eerie glow of red eyes was almost paralyzing.

"Don't… you… dare…" Sam was saying meanwhile punctuating his words with gunshots but at some point Bela just stopped hearing them, or paying attention. Didn't notice he was making his way forward, too. "Leave… my… brother… alone!"

And with the last shot the spirit suddenly made a step back, stumbled…

Bela was watching it not even trying to understand what the hell was going on. She didn't quite get it why the spirit began to fall backwards, why the horse was hitting the ground nervously with the hoof and jerking its head up and down.

And then the boy opened his mouth and began to scream in anger and desperation, and before the Headless Horseman reached the ground, they both disappeared. Or better – three of them, horse assumed.

Surprised, Dean jerked upwards and blinked. Fought a wish to rub at his eyes to make sure that it was real. Turned to Sam and finally howled himself up to his feet. Shook some leaves off of his pants and jacket and then peered at Sam again.

"Dude, how did you do that?" His jaw dropped a little as he swept the clearing with his arm, gun still clenched tight in his hand.

"I…" Sam started. Paused and swallowed, but before he could continue – not that he could actually day anything decent – Bela's cell phone started to ring.

It took her a moment to identify the sound, and then she dug it from the pocket of her coat and stared at unfamiliar number on the screen for a long moment. From the corner of her eye saw that Sam rushed to help Dean… with _whatever_, and finally decided that answering wouldn't hurt.

"I'm okay," Dean growled in a low voice shoving Sam's supportive hand away from himself. "Bloody hell, Sammy, give me some air, would ya?" Not that he could blame his brother for being… a good brother, but come on! It was a little too much. He wasn't handicapped or something. He didn't want to be treated any differently than when he wasn't counting his days, for God's sake!

Unwillingly, Sam stepped back. They both turned and looked at Bela who hung up, raised her head and returned the glance.

"It's from the hospital," she explained before any questions followed. "Gabe Wilson died."

***

Dean tucked his gun back into the waistband of his jeans as he and Sam walked out of the house and into the porch. The sky was low and grey, not really surprising this early in the morning, and chilly air smelled like snow. Well, right about time.

They were back to Gabe Wilson's house. To make sure… well, just to take a look. Again.

"You okay, man?" Sam asked him with pointed disinterest – like he could probably ask about Miami weather forecast on their way to Montana – for like tenth time in the past five minutes, which, Dean knew, meant a great deal of worry.

"Yeah, sure. I'm fine." He nodded distractedly. The truth was, he wasn't even lying here. He actually felt good and oddly alive – which, okay, could be a result of adrenaline still rushing through his veins. Even with his throat being uncomfortably sore. It felt like work and hunting was his source of life force.

They both stopped when they spotted Bela standing on the driveway and leaning against the Impala's hood. Arms folded on her chest, she was peering at something at her feet as the wind kept tearing at her hair. And obviously, it was the last thing she cared about. She heard them coming and looked up.

"Um… you know what, Dean? I think I should go and take care of the altar." Sam offered lightly. Cleared his throat when two seconds passed but no reaction came from Dean.

"What?"

"We don't want anyone to start asking the questions, right?"

"Uh… yeah, right."

Sam followed his bother's gaze and sighed not at all sure that Dean heard a word of what he had just said. It didn't look like they still were in the same universe.

"'Kay, man. I'll be right back." And yeah, Dean surely missed that part.

With pretended easiness, like he was just having a walk in the park, Dean came down several steps and approached his car trying to look at anything but Bela, all of a sudden interested beyond measure in the Impala's small side mirrors. He almost hated himself for it, and for what he was going to do.

There was a stripe of clotted blood on his temple that he got somewhere along the way, and Bela felt her palms itching with the wish to touch him, make sure he was okay. But something about him kept her from doing it; the wall that he put between them was thick as The Great Wall of China and cold as ice. And he was avoiding her eyes, too. Never a good sign. So, instead she unfolded her arms, tucked her hands into the pockets of her coat and looked up the driveway and at the house.

"So, this is it, then?" She asked nonchalantly.

"Kinda."

"No real Headless Horseman? What a shame!"

"Who knows?" Dean shrugged. "He might still be somewhere out there. Or maybe not. We'll keep an eye on the area, see if it is still active."

Bela nodded conceding his point. Not that there was much to say.

"What are you going to do now?" Asked in a light voice and with sincere curiosity as if he actually could answer – go to see the beauties of Grand Canyon.

Dean stole a quick glance in her direction but she wasn't looking his way. For a moment she kept her eyes on the frozen ground, and then turned to study the empty street, her features calm, chin tipped high.

"Move on to something new," he chuckled a bit ruefully. "These sons of bitches are always there, ya'know." Like… like there was some other meaning to the words.

Yeah, she knew, and he knew it, too. Tried not to sound too apologetic… because he actually was, and it seriously sucked. Whatever she wanted to hear, it was obvious that he wasn't going to say it. Not that he thought she actually believed he would.

Dean cleared his throat then. "What about you?"

Bela turned her head around and met his eyes for the first time since… _morning_? Hell, was it really this close in the past? Felt like last week, at the very least. Gave him her best smile, all teeth and pure charm. "Move on to something else," she repeated his words. "There is always something else out there. Speaking of which…" She reached into her purse and pulled out plain white envelope, handed it to Dean and said when his brows arched in silent _huh?_ "Your four grand. Like I promised."

"Oh…"

Oh, right. As shocking as it was, but he totally forgot about this part of their deal. Taking money from her felt wrong now, and at some point Dean even contemplated refusing but then decided that it would look strange… she'd get the false impression… He'd look like… like… Yeah, like a fool. Obviously, Bela didn't have any problem with dealing with work and personal issues simultaneously. Besides, his car needed fuel, spare parts, repair… He needed to pay for the motel rooms and cheap fast-food and whatever else they could need to pay for in cash. So what if the feeling of self-disgust was almost overwhelming? He got used to living with it a long time ago.

"Yeah." He took the envelope, folded it twice… and paused to give Bela a suspicious look. "I don't need to check it, do I?"

"Why, Dean, don't you trust me?" Coy twinkle in her eyes made something twitch painfully in his stomach.

He rolled his eyes if a little theatrically, lest she notice something and finally put the reward in the pocket of his jacket, not quite sure how to move on to what he needed to say. Not even sure he had to. Or could, speaking of that.

Silence fell between them for a moment as they just stood there looking anywhere but at each other, which seriously was rather dumb. The words that Dean had ready and rehearsed in his head felt somewhat wrong and foul in his mouth, and he physically couldn't bring himself to saying them out loud.

Bela saved the moment though. She looped a strand of loose hair that the wind kept throwing in her face around her ear and looked at the house first, probably half-expecting another ghost to appear out of it. Hell if he knew what could possibly be going on inside of that head of hers. She dropped her eyes then.

"Look, I'm not leaving until tomorrow," she began matter-of-factly. A little too matter-of-factly maybe… Dean could only see the outline of her profile now. "And there's this nice place right across the street from my hotel." Raised her gaze to look him in the eyes. "We could have a cup of coffee." And added with a small smile, "If you don't have a half-hearted murder or something else not less exciting planned for the evening of course."

Her last comment made Dean smile too, totally against his will, even despite the fact that it was a wrong turn of events and that he felt rather stupid over the whole situation. Not to mention that his whole plan was practically falling to shit. Like he was some bloody high school student who couldn't be brave enough to ask out the girl he liked, and then all of a sudden she saved the day and asked him out first. Which, yeah, made so much sense! First they hated each other and fought every damned moment, then they slept together, and then she asked him out for a date. Now what exactly was wrong in all of this again?

"Um… yeah, maybe," he replied evasively.

They both turned back to the sound of the foot-steps and saw Sam coming down the porch stairs, eyes scanning the surrounding area and neighboring houses. When he reached the lower step, he saw them and slowed down, his features and the line of his shoulders relaxing minutely, and he tucked his hands leisurely into the pockets of his jacket.

"Okay then, I'll see you around… maybe," Bela offered lightly and pushed herself off of his car.

"Uh-huh, sure." Looking over the shoulder at his brother was a good excuse, and Dean used it. Why tempt the fate?

"Sam," she waved at him.

"Oh, bye, Bela." Sam nodded curtly and stopped beside Dean.

"Everything clear there?" Dean asked him.

"Sure." Sam waited till she reached the car and got inside, and then turned to give a look to his brother. "Don't you think that watching her walk away over and over again is getting a little old, Dean?"

"Shut up and get in the car."

***

Dean parked the Impala not far from the entrance to Bela's hotel but out of reach of the street-lamps light so that his beauty wasn't too noticeable, and slid out of his seat. Blistering-cold wind greeted him outside making Dean scowl inwardly at how perfectly it reflected his state and mood.

Café that Bela talked about was right across the street, just like she said, and now that the darkness fell and the lights were on, Dean could see her sitting at a small table near the big ceiling-to-floor window with a cup of something before her. He watched her turning her head towards the door every time the visitors were making their way in or out, and his heart clenched. She threw a quick glance at her cell phone lying on the glass surface near the cup. Checked the time perhaps. Or whatever. Looked out the window then. Dean took a small step back and deeper into the shadow, and then walked straight to the hotel doors as soon as she turned away.

Once inside, he crossed the brightly lit foyer and came up to the registration counter behind which young man in illegally expensive suit was sorting the mail, two neat piles of paper and envelopes growing before him. The man looked up when Dean came closer and greeted him with polite smile.

"Evening, sir. How can I help you?"

Dean glanced quickly over his shoulder and out the glass doors. She was still there. "Can I leave a message for a lady from room 314?" On his best smile. Had the receptionist been a girl, he'd probably melt right away.

"Sure," the clerk nodded. Thankfully, without melting.

Dean hesitated for the barest of moments, and then pulled out the envelope and passed it over the counter to the young man, before he changed his mind or something. Sam didn't know about the money and hence he couldn't bug his brother about getting sentimental or whatever. As for Dean, he simply couldn't keep them.

Over the hours several pieces of paper turned into a pocketful of stones and started driving him crazy. He debated sending the whole pile by post right to Bela's apartment in Queens – imagined with rueful amusement her confusion – but it was risky. Four grand weren't a Birthday greeting card after all; it was a fucking helluva lot of money. Maybe nothing for Bela, of course, but still. And although Dean was pretty sure he could think out a couple of other ways to safely return the envelope to her, it was a little too tempting to see her one last time, even from the distance. If a little masochistic too, maybe, but Dean somehow couldn't help it.

The clerk took the envelope from his hand, looked at it without actual interest – probably decided that it was barely possible to hide something really dangerous in it – and then put it into the cell with the number "314" above it. Dean nodded to himself, practically feeling that he began to breathe easier.

"I'll pass it right away," the man promised to him. "Anything else?"

"Uh…р no. Thanks, dude."

"My pleasure, sir."

Dean shook his head. Damn, it sucked when people talked like that. And yet it made him feel somewhat better. Proved once again that he didn't belong in her world. It was foolish to believe even for one goddamned moment that he was anything that Bela needed. Besides, he was dying. He had only several months left to make sure that Sam was ready to deal with his fucking life on his own and without looking back when Dean's clock made the final beat.

He walked out into the street and took a deep breath filling his lungs with the air that was so cold that it hurt. Absently, he wondered how much time it would take for his lungs to cover with ice crust. Compared to it, his blood felt oddly hot, his heart pumping it for all it was worth.

In café the waitress came up to Bela's table and probably asked or offered something. Bela shook her head in response. Dean couldn't see it but it wasn't hard to imagine small smile on her lips. Oh hell, he was so not getting anywhere like this!

He returned to his car and slid in, paused for a moment, his fingers on the key to start the ignition but then he reached for his cell phone instead cursing himself for being damn idiot. It wasn't a good idea and he knew it. The fact that he didn't show up was a hell of a hint but…

Scrolled down the quick dial list and pushed the dial button. Saw her all but jump at the thrill of her phone and swallowed hard fighting the urge to disconnect before she picked up. Should have also switched the phone off for good measure, be a fucking chicken and flee. And maybe do his best to hide far enough so that she wouldn't find him easily…

Tempting.

"Hey," Dean said in a soft voice in reply to Bela's greeting. "Um, look, Bobby called." Lame. If she wasn't stupid, and he knew that she wasn't, she'd guess he was lying. Not that he thought Bela was going to actually check it. _Keep the voice level and busy_. Hell, he could still imagine her hearing _Sorry, sweetheart, but it is the best excuse that I found to dump you_. "There's one angry spirit torturing a family in Oklahoma. Kinda urgent. Sam and I had to hit the road right away to get there until someone got hurt." _Except for myself, of course, but who the hell cares?_ "Can't make it, sorry."

There was a pause on the line, so long that Dean even checked if she'd hung up. No, the timer on the screen was still blinking.

"_Can't make it where?_" She asked in the end with genuine curiosity and confusion.

Okay, so she wasn't going to make it easy. He hoped they'd go past it quicker.

"Well, coffee…" He began still not sure if he should be apologetic or defensive to get out of this crap with as much dignity as possible. Not that he had any left.

"_Oh, that_," she interrupted him, to Dean's endless surprise. "_Never mind, Dean, really. I totally forgot about it myself. And anyway, I wouldn't be able to come either_." And added, before he had time to say a word – while he was spluttering, more like it (what an undignified word!). "_My plans changed as well, see. One of my clients called. I am going back to New-York today, heading to the airport now actually. Should have called you perhaps but…_" She trailed off. "_Let's say, you're lucky you caught me before I had to switch off the phone_."

Dean's fingers clenched around his phone so hard that he might as well break it had he applied a little more strength. Eyes pinned to her, he caught his breath for a moment and then let it out slowly and quietly lest she hear it.

He'd got to give her that, Dean thought with dismay. She was brilliant. No wonder she was good at what she was doing for living, no matter how much the thought irritated him. All these tricks and lies. If only he really was miles away and couldn't see her sitting in the bloody café and staring at one point somewhere before her, he would have actually believed that she was driving to the airport this very moment, suitcases packed and palms itching in anticipation of money. Wished it was true. It would still hurt perhaps, but in another, less torturing way.

"Oh," was all he could say, and even that wasn't easy. "Um… okay. I mean, good." Hell, what _else_ could he possibly say?

Another long pause followed. Or maybe it just seemed longer than it was because every damned second lasted forever.

"_Oh, well_," Bela spoke first, voice bright and… and like nothing happened. "_Have to go now. Would talk more, but my plane won't wait._" She sounded so genuinely excited that for a moment Dean thought that the woman he was looking at through the windshield of his car wasn't Bela… until she turned again. There was no way he could ever take her for someone else. "_Good luck with the hunt_," she added then, softer and just a little too caring for the game.

"Good luck with your dirty business," he echoed lightly, or so he hoped. Thought about hanging up, but then she suddenly called him.

"_Dean…_"

His heart sank and he stopped breathing. _Tell me it was a joke_, he thought with desperate hope. _Ask me to come. Say… hell, something. Anything_.

"Yeah?"

"_Goodbye_."

It came out in a whoosh of breath, almost inaudible, and obviously wasn't what she wanted to say first, even he could say that, but this one word literary exploded in his head and made Dean somewhat deaf for a very long moment. She might have as well punched him in the gut…

"Bye," he said back but she had already hung up. The timer wasn't blinking anymore.

Dean tore his gaze off of the small screen and tossed the phone away to the passenger's seat before he… called her again or something. This was getting simply ridiculous! He looked up and saw her sitting still and staring out the window, hands clenched together and lying on the table before her.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, and then started the engine, made a U-turn and winded away, tires squealing on the asphalt, without giving her another glance.

***

It started to snow as soon as they left the confines of a small town leaving it to deal with its mysteries and secrets without their help. Dean watched the snowflakes dancing in the headlights of the Impala, one hand on the steering wheel and his mind miles away.

"We could have stayed in the motel at least until morning," Sam yawned on the passenger's seat.

"No."

Just no, nothing else.

"Dean…"

"Did Bobby call?" Dean interrupted his younger brother, so not up to the chick-flick moment.

"No."

He nodded, "He will. Maybe tomorrow." Sooner or later. Or maybe they would find something on their own first. He didn't really care.

Sam shrugged, "Yeah." Turned to Dean then. "So, this whole story was about the man with mental problems, right?"

"Can you believe it?" Dean chuckled and shook his head. "Like I said, people can be a lot freakier than any demons."

"But why? I don't get it."

"Well, the legend wasn't just the legend, apparently. At the age of sixteen Gabe Wilson saw something in the woods but no one believed him. It was a little more than he could stand, so he cast a spell and summoned his own ghost to prove that he was telling the truth. But it didn't work the way he planned…"

"Because murderous spirit is not what people would willingly want to believe in."

"Exactly! And so he went on and on and on."

Sam nodded but then frowned again causing Dean to smirk to himself. Yeah, his lil bro was overly analytical and always thinking. "But why Halloween, Dean?"

Sure, he wanted to know _everything_.

"Sorry, Sammy, that question somehow slipped my mind while I was trying to save my sorry ass," Dean snorted. "Dunno, man, really. Perhaps his own encounter happened on Halloween, or maybe he just wanted to make the bloody holiday freakin' creepy."

Sam scoffed. "And the boy…"

"It was him, Gabe Wilson." Dean rubbed at his forehead as if the thought needed physical influence to settle in. "I checked some articles today… and don't you look at me like this! I can do research… when necessary." He rolled his eyes under Sam's rather amused look. "Anyway, I guess that at some point he started losing his mind, he was an old man after all, but his will to keep his scheme working was so strong that he kinda produced his own spiritual clone to carry on his wicked legacy." Paused for a moment as if rewinding his words in his head once again. "Sounds crazy. Like maybe crazier than some other crazy things we had to deal with, but… " He trailed off on a shrug. The truth was, compared to some other stuff this one wasn't so insane.

Sam considered his words for a long moment.

"Well, yeah, but actually there were many cases..."

"I know, Sam! Believe me, I've read about most of them!"

Laughing, Sam nodded. "Right! How could I forget?" And then, in a serious voice, "And when he died it all just stopped."

"Sort of."

Sam settled back into the time-softened leather on the front seat and gave Dean apprehensive look. "You okay?" And added quickly when Dean gave him all but glare. "You weren't so hot just a few hours ago. I mean you were, literary."

"I'm fine." Dean locked his eyes on Sam's for a moment, and repeated, "Swear, man. I'm okay." His gaze shifted to the road ahead. "The job is the best cure," under his breath and addressing to himself more than his brother.

Sam didn't say anything. Didn't push the subject. Just nodded curtly after short hesitation and then rested his head against the window staring sightlessly outside. At least Dean stopped snapping at him every time he was a bit overly concerned. Hell if Dean could blame him. Some part of Sam believed that had they revered the roles, Dean wouldn't be sitting and waiting either. Moreover, Sam was more than sure that had it been him who sold the soul, Dean would kick his ass hard for being so stupid, and then he'd get Devil himself and kick his ass for messing with his brother, too. So what if there was hardly anything they could do?

"You want me to drive, just tell me, okay?"

"Yeah."

Dean gave him a sidelong glance but then just leaned back into his own seat, turned on the heater and raised the volume of the radio letting the beats of classic rock fill his head. Decided to concentrate on the road. Sooner or later they'd come across some gas station, hopefully with the roadside motel nearby. Whatever, just to let them have some rest. And if no, then he'd grab some coffee, probably cold and more or less disgusting, so that he could hold on until the next stop without yawning his tonsils out. They'd find another case – demons rarely took holidays – and move on. That was how it had always been and that was how Dean wanted it to be now – he wanted to live the only life he knew ever since he remembered himself until the very end.

He knew he did a good thing. She'd be better off without him, all things considered. And apparently, Bela had the same opinion. Dean sighed. She made it his way, said every bloody word he wanted her to say and did nothing to give him hard times. It was like… like she didn't know how to say goodbye first and then he, all damn gentleman, did all the dirty work for her. Well, his pleasure of course! But why he was the one who felt like he lost the game then? Okay, maybe he was overreacting a little but something just wasn't right. Something probably…

The realization struck Dean so hard and was so painfully obvious that he nearly swerved into the wrong side on the road and all but started seeing red.

"Fuck, Sam! I hate you!"

Not at all surprised by the outburst, Sam heaved a tired sigh. "I'm sorry, man. I thought she knew."

"Yeah? And what exactly made you think so? The fact that I so love talking about my impending eternal damnation maybe? Or my willingness to share that I am well-known for?"

"I thought you'd tell her. It would be… fair."

"Fair." Dean mimicked him, his short laughter was bitter and lacked any humor. "Oh sure. This freaking stupid life is all about fairness, bright sunshine, hearts and flowers, yeah?" Should have guessed sooner.

Sam was silent for about half a minute. "She had right to know, Dean." Although Dean obviously had a different opinion on that matter. "Look, I was sure she was aware. She… behaved like she knew," he breathed out then, still staring out the window.

Doing his best to keep his frustration under control, Dean asked in what he thought was a very calm voice – assuming the whole situation, "What do you mean – behaved?" Couldn't keep the frown though, confused.

Sam shrugged. "She seemed to be worried, you know. And… dunno. Sad maybe, like… like…"

"Like she was already mourning me the way you and Bobby do?" Dean finished in a dry voice. He wasn't dumb and blind for God's sake!

So, why deny the obvious?

"Yeah, kinda."

Dean's jaw twitched and his grip on the steering wheel tightened so much that his knuckles turned unnaturally white. Lips pursed into a thin line, he fixed his gaze on the road ahead and the snowflakes dancing and falling and melting as soon as they touched the ground. His insides twisted at the thought that it was one of the things that would never change after his death. He would be long gone, but this time in a year it would probably start snowing again. Now that was somewhat frightening…

Yet, his blood was still boiling and he gave Sam another burning glare swallowing a string of curses that were so close to escaping his mouth.

"And when did it come to you, genius, that you probably spilled a little more than necessary?" He asked in a pointedly flat voice.

"Remember my face when I found it out first?" Sam's voice sounded oddly flat. "You get the general idea then. Whatever she thought your dirty little secret was, it was anything but _that_. A poker debt maybe." He pinched the bridge of his nose. "She was shocked. And hurt, too."

Dean slammed the steering wheel with his palm. "Damn it, Sam!" Growled through clenched teeth, and with a great deal of anger, too.

"Thought she was going to cry or something."

"Terrific!"

"She didn't, though."

"Sure it changes everything," Dean grimaced adding acid to his voice.

"She had right to know, Dean," Sam pressed on but it came out in whoosh of breath and Dean almost missed it, what with his blood hammering in his ears.

"Fine, Mr. I-know-what-is-right-for-everyone! And what am I supposed to do with it now? Why are you telling me this?"

"To make your life a little more exciting maybe," Sam's smirk was bitter. He felt Dean's glower on the back of his head. Apparently his brother was trying to burn him down.

"Nice! Thank you!"

"You've gotta start to take it seriously, Dean."

"Don't you think I know that it's not an amusement park I'll head to in the end?"

"Apparently, no. Because you're… you just… How can you not try to save yourself? I don't get it!"

"Because they'll kill you, you jerk, if I try!" Dean snapped. He was so sick and tired of saying it over and over again, and for nothing, too. Why waste time if Sam wasn't hearing him anyway?

They glared daggers at each other for a moment or two and then turned away from each other. Dean peered out the windshield, his fingers clenching the steering wheel so tight that it hurt. And Sam stared out his window counting his own intentionally slow breaths fuming from inside. Hell, how could Dean blame him for giving a damn?

He exhaled slowly. "She asked me not to tell you," added quietly. Practically breathed out.

Dean spluttered for a moment.

"What?" He snapped his head around. "Dude!"

"She didn't want you to know that she knew."

Hell! Dean swallowed hard past the lump in his throat.

"Why?" His voice dropped. Like… like there actually was an answer to this question.

Sam shrugged. "Maybe for the same reason you didn't want to tell her. For the same reason you're running away, Dean. So that you two could pretend that nothing changed. Or so that you didn't know that she cared." He gave Dean a grave look. "But you gotta learn to live with it." And turned away.

"With what?"

Sam stayed silent for a little while before finally saying, "With people caring."

On that he let out a long breath and sagged back into the seat once again.

And what was Dean supposed to say about that? Now that was what he called a very fucked-up situation. But he could have seen it coming, right? Could have felt it. She let him off the hook too easily. Didn't even try to… what? Hold him back? She didn't try to make him feel miserable, that was what surprised him most.

Hell, he could live with people caring! He could live with them alright. With Dad, and Sam, and Bobby. It was okay. It was natural. They were family. He knew he could count on them 24/7 and that they'd do anything for him. It simply couldn't be the other way around.

Bela on the other hand was someone entirely different. She was making him feel the things he didn't want to feel and think of the things he didn't want to be involved with. She was confusing, and Dean simply didn't know what to do. He was losing control and it frightened him like hell. Or maybe even more than hell.

Yeah, it was the very time when he thought he should have died like Dad. He wished he could just walk away and never come back so that everyone he was leaving behind could still believe. As if he wasn't really dying. He wished he knew a way to walk away without hurting anyone. On the times like this Dean wished he was all alone in the entire fucking world so that no one would notice that he was gone. But the truth was – he wasn't no one, and he wasn't alone, and he couldn't just walk away.

The weight of wrong steps and bad decisions was pressing on him and tightening his chest. And the further back Dean was looking, the more he wished he could just rewind his life and start everything again.

He shouldn't have called Sam back into life his brother was so eager to run away from. He should have tried to find Dad on his own. If he could just let this little brother go maybe the things could go different. Sam could have had his friggin' perfect life. Maybe their Dad would still be alive, too. Maybe he'd get demon before it got him, had the things gone some other way. Maybe they'd get him before he started his crazy game with the chosen kids and Sam would never die. Maybe Dean would never have to make the bloody deal.

Slowly, Dean let out a long sigh, his fingers flexed on the steering wheel, eyes locked to the wet asphalt. Sam didn't so much as move in the last ten minutes and Dean wondered if he'd fallen asleep, but he never turned to actually check. Right now he wanted to stay alone and give in to all these brooding thoughts he'd been pushing away for so long. Apparently, pretending that he indeed was alone was the only way to do so. He still felt anger and frustration peppered with something bitter and hurting. Something that was making him want to scream.

Selfishly, he thought it was a very bad idea to answer the bloody phone call in the first place. He almost ignored it when he first saw Bela's name on the caller ID. It was a bad idea to drag his ass across half of the country.

Deep inside he felt a twinge of guilt – _knowledge meant responsibility; more people would die if he didn't come_ – but he quickly blocked himself from going any further down this lane. For once in his life Dean wanted to think about what was good for him instead of caring about the bunch of strangers who didn't even know he existed. God knew, after all these years of being big damn hero he had right to be selfish.

It was a very bad idea to get involved in this crazy pony case…

Dean heaved a tired sigh and rubbed at his eyes.

It was a very bad idea to fall in love with Bela Talbot.

**The end

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**

So, this is it. Nothing big, I know. I'm not really good at fighting and action. It's emotions I like writing about *was the video spoilery btw??*

I know that there are some mistakes here and there. Swear to God, I do my best to avoid them but after reading the whole thing for like 10 times I just stop seeing separate words, so sorry. I'm working on it :)

**AN2**: It is probably my last Season3-related fanfic. If I ever decide to write smth else, it will probably also involve Season 4 spoilers. Well, just for the record.

Reviews are always love!

Thank you for reading!


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